


Drabbletober 2019

by catfacekathryn



Category: ATEEZ (Band), EXO (Band), Heize (Musician), NCT (Band), ONEUS (Band), SEVENTEEN (Band), Stray Kids (Band), The Boyz (Korea Band), The Rose (Band), 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: Abstract, Accident, Adrenaline, Adrenaline Junkies, Androids, Angels, Awakening, Benders, Betrayal, Blink, Blood, Blood Drinking, Bullying, Burying, CEO?hyunjin, Candle Lit Dinners, Capture, Carrots are equal to fingers, Chained up, Choking, Coffee, Contracts, Coven Forming, Dawn - Freeform, Death, Demons, Deviation, Disease, Djinni!Mingi, Drabbletober, Dragons, Dreams, EXO Ensemble - Freeform, Earth Manipulation, Echo - Freeform, Elements, Empty, Envoys, Escape, Euphoria, Execution, F/M, Fairies, Fallen Angels, Fighting, Framing, Gas - Freeform, Genies, Ghosts, Healing, Help, Hollow - Freeform, Hybrid!Yeonjun, Hybrids, Ice, Illusions, Injury, Joshua is old as heck, Kevin is rich, Kumihos, Lost Magic, M/M, Magic, Masquerade Ball, Masquerade is back, Mates, Memories, Mentioned Jongin, Mentioned Kai xukun, Mentioned Mark Lee (NCT), Merchant!San, Midnight, More vampire, More vampires lol, Moving On, Murder, OCs - Freeform, Pain, Painting, Patterns, People Eating, Persistence, PettyThief!Hongjoong, Pirates, Possession, Prison, Prison Escape, Punishment, Rain, Renew, Revolution, Robot Creation, Robots, Screaming, Seers, Shark - Freeform, Ship Sinking, Showing Off, Singer!Heize, Siren!V, Sirens, Skeletons, Spark, Species Change, Spicy Stuff, Stealing, Storm - Freeform, Sugar Baby, Sugar Daddy, Sunburn, Sweet, Temperature Manipulation, Torture, Tricks, Trust, Tunnel collapse, Uh mpreg, Vague, Vampire war, Vampires, Vessel, Victory, Violence, Water Spirit, Weapons, Werewolves, Winter, Wish Gone Wrong, Wishes, Witches, Wounds, Wyvern!Yeonjun, accidentally hurting, afterlife rambling, amaroks, blinded - Freeform, boat sinking, bond souring, burn - Freeform, but no paint, but not the cute kind, chase - Freeform, collapse, command, contort, cracks, dead walking, death wounds, demons again, djinn, escorting Royals, ethereal, examine, existence questioning, failure - Freeform, fancy flavored demon blood, forge - Freeform, fox spirits, frozen hell, future sight, gold - Freeform, gold dust, golden chalice, half-linear writing, heat trials, high security prisons, hollow souls, indistinct, indulgence, injuries, just blood, kind of implied turning and uh, leap, long journey, lots of negativity, lucen is curious and confused, mentioned junmyeon, mentioned yixing, midnight descriptions, mining, more demons, more gold mentions, more possession, more vampires lmao, murder attempts, murmurs, my twitter people understand where that came from lol, new vampire, not really cannibalism, palm cutting, past KunTen, possessive, power-sharing, prince!seonghwa, sangyeon works at a diner, secretary/intern/assistant?minho, signatures, simulations, sun and moon metaphors, sun aversion, sunrise, time flow, tiny fish, trail, turning, turning into sirens, unconventional coven, unmasking, vague summons, vampireless coven, very innaccurate Alaska, voices, void, weird descriptions, witchless coven, yunho is just a cute boy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-02
Updated: 2019-10-02
Packaged: 2020-11-10 15:56:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 31
Words: 29,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20854397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catfacekathryn/pseuds/catfacekathryn
Summary: A collection of short stories written off prompts from Twitter user @ooyoungieI hope you enjoy!!





	1. Gold

**Author's Note:**

> I'll add the link to the post later on, along with the link to my Twitter for anyone who wants it, in the endnotes of the first drabble!! ^-^

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The nights belong to the dead, theirs to do with as they please. It pleases them to put on Masquerades, where the living and dead can dance together. But if one of the living is unmasked... the night will end with another added to the ranks of the dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has mentions of death, blood, and grievous injury.

I stepped into the ballroom, glancing about in an effort to locate the man who'd brought me in. He was gone though, and I wiped my clammy hands on my slacks as discreetly as I could. The man had said to be careful, but that it was worth it if you could make it the whole night. 

I licked my lips and adjusted the burgundy sleeve of my borrowed suit jacket. I stepped out into the slowly shifting crowd, expensive black shoes clicking against white marble. The white porcelain mask, not as elaborate as some others, sat heavy on the sharp slope of my nose. The man I'd come with had said it framed my eyes rather well, making them seem even more cat-like than they usually were. 

"Lucen," he said, the nickname I told him was my name rolling off his tongue smoothly, "the first thing you do when you walk in is find yourself a couple glasses of champagne and offer someone a dance. They're less likely to care for your life if you get to them first."

So that was what I did. I walked over to the table lined with glasses and took two flutes of the pale pink alcohol. It took me a moment to find someone alone, but as my gaze drifted over the crowd, I locked eyes with a man across the room. He quirked and eyebrow, and I raised a glass. His lips twitched into an almost-smile as he nodded. 

We met halfway, and I handed him the second glass. We inclined the delicate flutes towards each other and drained them. I placed my hands on his shoulders, fiddling with the glass, as he did the same at my waist. I asked the question first. 

"What's your name?" Another smile spread across his lips, wider this time. 

"Oh good. I was afraid you were timid," he said with a light-humored laugh. "My name is Jeonghan. And you are?" I took a moment to admire his long, brown hair. 

"Lucen," I told him his eyebrow quirked again, and I noticed it was exquisitely shaped. 

"What a strange name," he explained, voice filled with surprised delight. "Where's that come from, I wonder?" I smiled. 

"A nickname. I believe my mother called me that first, for one of her favorite kinds of clouds," I said. And Jeonghan faltered at that, his dark, lively eyes shifting about before his feet found the rhythm again, his eyes finding mine. 

"I see. Not many come back from death able to talk so freely of their family. Might start to miss them y'know, end up breaking a rule," the dead man said, sounding like a warning. I could see his death in the paleness of his skin, and I wondered if it had been the cold that took him. 

"Yes, well. My mother is dead herself," I told him as he dipped me low. "Cancer." And then we were up again. 

"How tragic it is, losing family to something like that. It must've been very hard," Jeonghan sympathized quietly. It was as if the brunet was trying to make me cry. 

"It was. But it's in the far past now," I murmured, my vision beginning to blur as the image of her passed by my eyes. I'd only been nine, and long forgotten emotions were bubbling up. 

He had been trying to get me to cry, I realized. It was when hands grabbed me in time with the fall of the first tear that I remembered what the man had said. 

"Don't cry, kid. The dead don't cry like you heartbeats do. It'll be a dead giveaway," he'd said, hair bleached white, leaned against a wall as he lit a cigarette behind his raised hand. It'd been windy. 

They pulled me up front where the Death Princes sat in their bone white thrones. People said they were made from the ground bones of afterlifers who'd died the permanent death. I could believe it now that I was so close.

It was odd to be so close to the collective rulers of the dead. I could see the clear difference in the two halves of them now. The Princes born of power had a tangible aura of dread and darkness around them, their death marking them heavily, while the Princes of wealth were draped in fine cloths and had a fragile, but beautiful, presence. None more so than the Prince on the far left. 

He had ink black hair and gold-speckled blue eyes. His suit was in pale gold and white, and the gold dust cascading across his cheekbones and the bridge of his nose sparkled as he turned his head to look at me with his big, kind eyes. His heart shaped lips were distorted by a frown, and his grip on his seat tightened as one of the darker princes stood. 

"Bring him up," was the quiet command. They pulled me onto the high platform and forced me to face the crowd, so I could no longer see the gold-dusted man. The dark prince tapped a cane against the ground, and the noise of the ball ceased within seconds. 

"Through wealth or through power a Death Prince is born," he intoned. He stepped closer, the white cane thudding against the platform softly. "Through blade or through poison, a Death Prince protects. As you all know, our Masquerades are held by us, for us, in the fashion of the first, held by the vampire prince Cai Xukun himself. We do not allow the living in our grand balls. It is known!"

"It is known!" The crowd was loud and enthusiastic in their response. 

"When one of the living is unmasked, it means their time has come to an end," he said, putting a hand in the ribbon that held the porcelain mask to my face. He pulled the ribbon free of its bow easily as he spoke again. "Tonight, we find another life among our death!" The mask fell to the ground and shattered loudly. The crowd began to cheer as he put an ancient knife to my neck. "As punishment for desiring that which he cannot have, I say he joins us!" I felt a light pressure on my neck, felt the warm trickle of blood from a new wound. 

"Wooyoung, wait," called a gentle voice. I looked over and saw that the gold-suited man had stood. "Must you kill him? He probably just wanted a bit of fun. He's only a boy, Wooyoung." The Death Prince sighed, shaking his silver-grey hair about his face. 

"You know I must, Joshua," the prince said, sounding almost regretful. The other bit his lip and sighed, looking away. Then, he turned his eyes towards me and strode closer, his hands coming up to remove one of the gold roses in his ears. 

"Can I give him this, at least? So he can come back to me," the gold prince asked. Wooyoung raised a brow. "So he'll have a good home. A good status. You know how important those things are for us." His voice was quiet, as if what he said were for the three of us alone. 

"I can't understand why you wish to give him your favor, but in the end it is not my choice. It is yours, so make sure it's a wise one, Joshua," said the dark eyed executioner behind me. The man in gold didn't answer, instead walking to stand in front of me. People started to whisper as Joshua grabbed my hand and opened it, pressing the small object into my hand. Now that he was closer, I could see the gold dust on his lids. 

"What is your name," he asked. I swallowed, an action that cut me deeper. More blood dripped down my neck, staining the white shirt and burgundy jacket as I answered.

"Ong Namkyu. Or Lucen. Either works," I whispered. He smiled and nodded. 

"Namkyu, this is my favor. Hold onto it tight if you'd like to wake up to a big, soft bed," he said as he closed my hand over the heavy earring: real gold. 

"Why would you do this," I asked. I was trembling, feeling the warm blood seeping from me as my death drew nearer. 

"You're just a kid. I was too, once upon a time. You could say I miss it," Joshua told me. He dropped his hands and walked away. Without any of the previous ceremony, perhaps because he'd finished it, Wooyoung split my throat from ear to ear, and I fell dead moments later.  
•  
His funeral was a dismal affair for everyone involved. He had no family or friends; he'd been homeless. Joshua paid for the funeral, and everything was in gold. He wasn't called the Gold-Dust Prince for nothing. 

Joshua said that they should leave Namkyu barefoot and gave them an outfit to dress him in for his first night as one of the dead; a gold silk blouse with pale gold slacks, and a black choker with gold embroidery to hide his death wound. Namkyu's casket was more butter yellow than gold, but it was close enough on short notice. 

When Joshua found his earring still clasped in the boy's hand, he smiled and put it in the empty piercing of his right ear. 

His funeral gifts were simple as they went, from Joshua and the other Death Princes who'd been at the last Masquerade. He'd be comfortable in the Castle of the Dead, at the least. 

His casket was buried as the sun set, gold painting the sky more fully than it had in years. It warmed Joshua Hong's cold heart to see it, how the night was welcoming the boy so openly. In some hours, he would rise with gold painting the sky even more strongly, and the world would rejoice that yet another was one step closer to the final death.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Drabbletober Prompt List](https://twitter.com/ooyoungie/status/1178830745097269248?s=19)
> 
> My Twitter is @catfacekathryn ^-^


	2. Pattern

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All Kevin said was that he wanted to paint Sangyeon. 
> 
> So how did he end up shirtless while Kevin dragged a paintbrush over his back?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haha uhm vampires, and like, it's in the tags but uh, mentions of blood and vaguely spicy stuff... Yay?

When he asked if he could paint me, I agreed. I didn't expect the way he did it, nor that he was so many centuries older than me. A vampire. 

He'd said that he was going to pick me up from the diner I worked in after my shift. We could go back to his house, and then he'd paint me. 

Of course, I expected canvases and acrylic paint. Sitting in one spot for hours on end, maybe chatting. I wasn't sure, but that was what came up in my head, because while I didn't know Kevin Moon well, I knew he was cute, and interesting, and he always tipped me at least fifteen bucks when he came in. 

So that's how I ended up in a very expensive, very rectangular, silver grey Rolls Royce with a man who looked much too young to be driving it. For one thing, the front doors opened forward, and I'm pretty sure the back doors opened the other way. Suicide doors are always fun, right? The leather was in perfect condition, like no one ever rode in this car. Then again, he probably had so many other cars if he could afford this one. 

There was Wi-Fi. The car had a hotspot, and an entertainment system (though it was in the back). There were so many systems in the front to help him drive, night vision among them, and at some point I'd stopped listening as he listed them. And then, there was the black strip across the dashboard with white roses, carved and somehow placed on it. The Gallery, he called it. I slid lower in the seat discreetly, feeling all of an alien sitting in this beautiful car while wearing my dirty uniform. 

"Uhm, Kevin," I asked, sounding very small even to my own ears. He hummed, keeping his eyes on the road. "What did you say this model was?"

"A Phantom 8," he responded calmly. I swallowed thickly. 

"And- how much do these things cost," I asked. He glanced over at me, his grip on the wheel tightening slightly. 

"It doesn't matter, Sangyeon, as long as you're comfortable in it," he said, completely dodging the question. I nodded and looked out the window. It was a very expensive car, then. 

I zoned out, only realizing it when he knocked on the glass in front of my face. I jumped and screamed, just a little, and he smiled. I could tell he was struggling to keep his composure. I unbuckled as he opened the door for me. The sweeping movement of his arm towards the massive mansion made him look too much like a butler. I didn't like it. Kevin didn't seem the type to work under someone. 

I followed behind him numbly, trying and failing to take in the scenery around me. The walk to the mansion wasn't a short one, but it wasn't long either, a minute and a half max. The path was shaded by tall trees with blooming flowers in their branches, petals of similar colors littering the very green grass. 

The mansion itself… I couldn't even begin to describe. It was huge, for one thing, and in a Victorian style for another. Dark, but not unwelcoming. Definitely, like the car, very expensive. I wondered how old it was. 

And then the door was open and we were walking in, passing nearly a dozen people. They were all, also, very attractive, and I blushed when they looked at me and my uniform. I wished very strongly that I hadn't spilled coffee on my left sleeve today as I followed Kevin up the stairs. I heard the other men murmuring, and I wondered whether it was about my clothes, my obvious lack of wealth, or just me, and if it was good or bad if it was just about me. 

"Are uhm, were those your, uh, friends," I asked tentatively. Kevin glanced back at me, all pale skin and dark hair and darker eyes. 

"I suppose you could call them that, yes," he said. Dodging again, though not so much as my first question since the trip here started. 

Here being his bedroom, apparently. He opened the door and I walked into a very large room with a very large, very soft-looking bed draped in red sheets. Very fine, very soft sheets. 

Kevin turned around and looked at me while I looked at everything else, shuffling nervously. I bit my lip and glanced at him, turning away again. I cleared my throat. 

"So uh, where do I-"

"The bed will be fine. And if you could take your shirt off, that'd be great," he said as he walked over to a cabinet, rolling up his sleeves along the way. I just stared after him for a moment before sputtering. 

"I don't- I'm not sure that- this- I thought that-"

"Yes," Kevin asked, turning around with a bottle of what looked like very thick red wine in one hand, a bunch of brushes clasped in the other. It was a question that would've sounded impatient coming from anyone else. 

"I thought you were going to paint me? Why would that require my shirt being off of me," I asked. I was very confused, and Kevin wasn't making anything seem any less confusing. He was only making it worse, actually, as he furrowed his brows and stared at the ground as if I'd just said the Earth was flat. 

"I'm not sure I could've been any clearer, Sangyeon. I'm going to paint you. How else would I…" he trailed off, obviously thinking hard about where he went wrong and become misunderstood. 

"With an easel," I asked, unsure about whether he was joking or not. His face uncreased and he looked back at me. 

"I see where you misunderstood now. I will not be painting a picture of you, I will be painting on you," he said. And my brain, for a split second, said this was entirely logical and prompted me to unbutton the top three buttons of my shirt as I shrugged and walked towards his bed. And then I stopped. 

"So, wait, you're just gonna like, paint on my back, I guess," I asked more than said. He nodded. 

"And possibly your arms," he answered. I walked closer, starting to unbutton the white cotton again. 

"Uhm, okay, cool. Aren't you worried about your sheets though? They look really nice," I said offhandedly, more focused on a button that was being difficult. 

"No, not really. I'm a very clean painter, and I always clean up my messes. Besides that, we've always got more sheets," he said. It sounded a bit like an innuendo, and I slowed for half a moment before walking on as if nothing had happened. 

And then I was out of my shirt, lying on my stomach in the middle of the very soft bed with my head on my arms. Kevin hissed, I think, and wondered if he'd injured himself. I felt the bed dip with his wait, and suddenly he was sitting on the back of my thighs. I jolted a little and looked back at him over my shoulder. He wasn't moving, just staring at my back. 

"Uhm, Kev-"

"You are very fit, you know. You can't really tell because your clothes are always so loose, but I do think you'll be an exquisite canvas, Sangyeon," he said, sounding just a bit distracted. 

"Uhm, thanks," I said, sounding more like a confused question. I looked away as I heard the bottle of wine being opened. When I felt something cool and wet touch my back, I almost jumped. I certainly tensed, and Kevin hummed. I was confused about why he was painting on me with wine, but since he was the artist so I decided I'd let it slide. 

I tried to decipher the patterns he put on my back as he did them, tracing them in my mind as he dragged the brushes over my skin. I'd never been that good with figuring out things like this, though, so I waited as the brush moved closer and closer to my face. I tried not to move too much, not even when I could feel Kevin hovering over my back with almost his entire upper body just to get at my shoulders. I moved my arms when he asked, letting my head rest on the bed instead. 

The farther down my arms he went, the more he had to stretch, and the more I noticed that I didn't feel his breath on my skin. There was no strain in his body, no shaking as he leaned over the majority of my body to paint tiny lines on my fingers. I felt a drop of the cool paint drip onto my lips, and without meaning to, my tongue darted out to clean them. The paint tasted coppery. 

I opened my eyes and looked at Kevin, slightly alarmed. Paint shouldn't taste like that. I was sure of that if nothing else. Even if I was wrong about Kevin's lack of breath or apparent effort to hold himself still, I knew that the paint was off. 

"Kevin, what are you-"

"Oh dear. I'm sorry, Sangyeon, I seem to have made a mess. I'll clean it, let me just put the lid back on this," he said, sounding very worried indeed. I barely had the time to even think of getting a word out before he'd capped the bottle and thrown it across the room, where it collided with a wall and shattered. I screamed, louder than I had in the car, and got no reprieve with which to prepare. 

In the next moment, before the glass shards had even finished finished clattering to the hardwood floor, his tongue was on my skin. I trembled as he licked over all the "paint" he'd just spent so long putting on me. I grabbed the sheets and opened my eyes, seeing the intricate patterns painted on my arm. 

It was like he'd based it on those paisley designs, only he'd taken it to the next level. They were much more elegant and refined, and they were all done in smears of what I was sure must be blood. 

I nearly looked over my shoulder again, but I was sure I'd have lost it if I did. So instead I tried not to focus on Kevin, with all his humming and noises of delight and lack of breath, and tried to just concentrate on the red sheets beneath my cheek long enough to ask a question. 

"Kev- uh, Kevin, is this uhm- is it blood," I asked, stuttering as I tried to speak. He hummed, more defined this time, and I swallowed. 

"Why, how come you don't… what's with you not breathing, Kevin," I asked. I was scared of the answer, scared what I was thinking was right. 

"Vampire," was the simple answer, muffled as he continued to run his tongue over the drying red patterns he'd so painstakingly painted. 

When he accidentally cut me with his fingernails later on, he apologized and said he'd clean up his mess if I cleaned up mine. Delirious from blood loss I agreed, and I licked over bloody scratches on his back as my eyes fluttered and ultimately shut.


	3. Crack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For as long as he can remember, there's been a crack in Youngjo's bedroom wall. Every night for 15 years, he's been listening to the voices and screaming that come from it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just some demon possession and very implied torture, it's doesn't focus on the progress and isn't graphic though.

There's a crack in the wall, right above my head. I don't know how or when the jagged crack appeared in my wall, but one day I woke up and it was just there. I'm not so concerned with the how and when as I am the why though. Because I hear voices talking at night, and it's only begun since my wall was marred.

It wasn't a very big crack, only about the width of my smallest nail, but it was very dark, as if it went deep into the earth. But it could not, for it was upon the smooth white of my bedroom wall, facing the floor in absolutely no manner. 

Air blew in from the crack, sometimes softly and sometimes fierce as a tornado, interchangeably burning hot and freezing cold. And with that wind came voices or screams, or both. I rarely understood what the voices said, but I knew how they sounded. 

There was only one that was ever the same; the others sounded different, but the same. The only one that stayed constant had a mid-ranged tone, an insistent confidence. The voice left no room for contention, sounded like it had no time to deal with people contradicting him. The one constant voice was always calm and in control. 

The other voices had a range and variety to them that was astonishing, never the same voice twice. What they all shared was the tinge of fear, soft or strong in the beginning, always overwhelmingly loud by the end of the night. Their screams were as diverse as their voices, but they all ended the same. Climbing higher and higher in pitch, becoming more ragged, until they cut off without warning.

Some talked frantically, telling blatant lies I forgot the second I heard them, while others remained stolid right until the end and gave nothing to the voice demanding cooperation. 

It's been years since I first woke up to the crack in my wall. Over the years, I've decided that the one voice I've heard every night is a torturer. And all the other voices and screams are his victims. I wasn't sure who I rooted for more, him or the victims, and that scared me. Because men who tortured others were not people I should want to talk to. 

The moral difference between right and wrong didn't stop me though. I'd grown up hearing the voice, dreaming of it at night even after I'd drifted off to his soft murmur, answered by screams and pleas. I'd grown up wondering and pondering and thinking over what might happen if I simply whispered into the crack I'd never told my parents about. 

My parents were gone now. It had been a decade and a half, and though many had urged me, I hadn't moved out of the house I grew up in. Instead, I stayed and listened every night with bated breath, desperate for the moment when he'd start talking. I knew it wasn't healthy for me to be fixated on him, and yet I couldn't stop. 

One day, when I was nearly 21, I broke down. I'd been curious far too long, wanting and merely listening to what I couldn't fully hear. So I did what I shouldn't have, what anyone would have warned me against had I talked to them about any of it. 

I waited until night fell, waited until just before I knew he'd begin to talk. I pressed my hands against the wall above and below the crack, and I drew as near to it as I dared to, and I spoke. 

"Hello?"

He didn't start talking, for once. There was silence, terrible, still silence, and then I heard the rustling of clothing. There was the light thumping of footsteps, as if someone was walking on hard floors with nothing beneath them. I heard tapping on the other side of the wall to my left, and I followed the sound of it with my eyes. 

The tapping stopped in just in front of me, and I heard a light chuckle. I swallowed and pressed closer. I could hear breathing through the crack, the confused voice of tonight's victim drifting up from somewhere far away. The man ignored the person in favor of pushing the tips of his fingers through the crack; it was barely large enough. I almost brushed my fingers over his, but, scared, I pulled away before I could touch him. 

"Well, this is a surprise," said the one voice I'd always heard, over years and years of my life. "It has been years since anyone talked to me of their own volition. Tell me, dear boy, what is your name?"

"I'm- I'm Kim Youngjo," I said timidly. I heard his laugh again, more amused than before. 

"How precious. You must not be too terribly old," said the voice. I swallowed. 

"Uhm, I- well, you see I, for years I've been- every night, I listen to you. I can't ever understand what you're saying, but I still listen," I said. 

"And I suppose you must hear the other voices as well," he said. I nodded, and then answered aloud. 

"I do. I can," I answered. 

"Do you condemn me for what you hear?"

"No. I know that's not right but, no, I don't. I wouldn't, I couldn't, I'd never condemn you for what you do," I told him frantically. He laughed once more. 

"How sweet of you. I suppose it only fair that I tell you exactly who I am, give you another chance to run," he said. I waited, eager to hear more about this man I'd listened to all my life. 

"I am a torturer for hire, and no one ever lets me have a break. I'm a demon named Yeo Hwanwoong. I'm not a good man in the least, Youngjo, and it would be safer for you if you sealed this crack and left," he said. 

"No, Hwanwoong, I couldn't. I've spent too long hearing nothing more than indistinct murmurs from you and now that you're finally here, I… I'm so happy, and I really shouldn't be talking to you, but there's nothing else I'd rather do at anytime or any day for the rest of my life. All I wanna do is talk to you," I said, almost embarrassed by the need I heard in my voice. He didn't speak for a long moment. 

"I know a way I can make that happen, dear Youngjo. I quite enjoy possessing people, but it's not as fun when they don't let me in," the demon said. I waited for him to continue, and he did. "But you, my dear, you'd let me in, wouldn't you? Precious boy, all you have to do is say the word. Simply say it and I'll be with you."

"Please. Come through, join me," I pleaded, my voice quieter than anything. 

"My boy," he said, positively purring. His fingers pushed further through the crack and opened it wider. He grabbed the wall and dragged down, pulling the wall apart. He climbed over the end of my bed and I scrambled back to give him room, staring at the man before me. 

He was shorter than I expected, with tousled grey hair and eyes burning with white-hot fire. He wore modernized traditional Korean clothes in a pink-tan, and they were stained with dark spots of wet and dry blood. He crawled close to me and inhaled with a smile. 

"Your world smells a good sight better than Hell, dear boy. Are you ready," he asked his breath fanned over my face as I swallowed. 

"What's going to happen," I asked. I was still scared by the unknown, and this was something I didn't know. He smiled gently and put a hand on my cheek, running his thumb over my cheek as he answered. 

"Fear not. Have you heard of Venom and Eddie Brock, I believe they are called," he asked I nodded. 

"From the American comic, right? Venom lives inside Eddie, and they work together to get the really bad guys. But they're also the bad guy sometimes. That's, that's them right? What you're talking about," I asked. He nodded in affirmation.

"That's right. How smart you are, my dear. It will be like that. I'll be inside you, sharing your body, talking to you, and I'll be able to take control when I wish, but… I won't do that too often. Mostly to protect us. And sometimes, when we're alone, I can come out and we can see each other. Be together. Is that something you'd like, dearest," he asked. I nodded, and he smiled. My heart soared with his smile. 

My heart soared higher as he kissed me. Time stretched out, and my eyes shut, and then he was gone. I opened my eyes and saw that the crack had sealed almost completely. It was little more than a hairline crack now, barely noticeable. 

"Hwanwoong," I called out, suddenly nervous. My fingers twitched, and I looked down. They were moving back and forth of their own volition, and I knew it was his own way of saying, "Don't worry, dear boy, I'm right here."


	4. Forge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Forge was not a safe place to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mentions of murder attempts and death. More demons.

The Forge was a dangerous place to be when you were alone. If you got in, be it by accident or intent, you weren't likely to survive more than a day. It was too hot, and there were too many demons. There were so many ways to kill an unsuspecting human in the Forge. 

But of course, that was if you were alone. You might survive as long as a month if you had an Escort, if you were a Companion. If you were accompanying one of the Forge's own, you might make it a year. At that point, it would become a sport to see who could kill the Companion first. 

Demons didn't often take Companions, Forge demons even less so, because not many humans were keen on standing by a demon's side for all eternity. I was one of the few who consented, and I still hadn't decided whether or not that had been a mistake. 

I was, so far, the longest-lived Forge Companion. I'd been alive for nine years, five months, and seventeen days, for two reasons: I had a keen sense for when someone was intent on harming me, and Keonhee was very vigilant in guarding me. 

Even if becoming a Companion was a mistake, I still believed Keonhee was the best demon I could've found. He was the closest to human I'd seen in a demon, and I wasn't sure if it was because of his age or his high position. Keonhee went to the greatest lengths to keep me safe, had even killed other Forge demons to, in his words, send a message to the others. 

Keonhee was like my other half. He was so kind, and always concerned for me, and he did his best to keep me happy. Many became Companions for the power they could gain, for the opportunity to visit the Forge and gain a weapon of great power. I had searched all my life for something I felt missing, from my soul and my heart, and I found it in the Forge demon named Lee Keonhee. 

Keonhee was the reason I became a Companion, solely him. The way he called out to me, the way he brought me small gifts, the way he smiled at me over our meals and during the most trivial conversations. It was everything about him making me feel complete that convinced me I was meant to be his Companion, nothing more and nothing less. 

"Dongju-yah! Get out of the way," said a frantic voice. I lunged forward and looked around for Keonhee, certain it had been his panicked voice that warned me of the sword splitting the air I'd just stood in. I turned and raised my hands, my eyes burning fire-red as I used Keonhee's shared powers to incinerate the demon where she stood. Keonhee dropped to his knees beside me, hands fluttering around my face and body as he checked me over. 

"I'm okay, Keonhee. Thanks to you, I'm always okay," I said quietly, placing a calming hand over where his heart burned hotly. His eyes fluttered over my face, checking for lies, before he exhaled heavily and nodded. I kissed his cheek and stood up, leaving the demon's sword on the ground. 

"Nice one, Xion," called one of the other demons. In the time I'd been here, some had taken a liking to me, and though they wouldn't hurt me, they wouldn't save me either. They would also never tell me why they called me Xion when I'd told them before that my name was Dongju. 

"You think you're ready for a Keonhee-brand Forge weapon," Keonhee asked as he ruffled my dyed-red hair. I put my hands behind my back and hummed. 

"Not sure. What d'you think," I asked in response. He nodded, his naturally blue hair bouncing. 

"Definitely. You need something strong and elegant, just like you."

He forged me a weapon all on his own, just for me. A handgun in the style of an old Western revolver. It had a leather grip and a longer barrel than American revolvers, for greater accuracy, he said, and he'd forged it out of silver and iron. He taught me rather quickly that I could imbue his hellfire into the bullets I shot from the gun. 

As they'd have said in the West, I became an exceptionally skilled sharpshooter, and I would've been able to outdraw any American cowboy. 

My life in the Forge was difficult, dangerous at every turn, but though it was blistering hot in the Forge, Keonhee's grace kept me cool, and Keonhee kept me safe and warm and happier than ever. I only ever thought it a mistake when too many tried for my life in a single day. 

Keonhee was the other half of me, and he said I was the other half of him. Lee Keonhee and Son Dongju against the world, he always said, and it would always be that way. 

Until the end of time, rather similar to 'til death do us 'part.


	5. Hollow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The demon seemed only to live in the winter times. It was the only time I ever saw him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Might be references 👀

In all the years of my life, I never felt so whole as when I first saw the black-haired demon through the frosted pane of my window. I was young when I first saw him, and I've stared out the window ever since that day, waiting for him to come back. 

He has returned a few times, on days I don't look for him, on days I spend doing other things without a thought for the demon I know to be ever-present. My own Jack Frost. 

The demon is beautiful, not what you expect from the things they tell you in church. He has feline eyes, and a warm smile despite the dreadful cold he exudes. His bangs are always hanging in his pale blue-green eyes, like chips of ice from frozen ponds and rivers. He is untouchable, but welcoming. Like the cold of a blizzard encouraging you to lie down and sleep, to give up. 

I've never talked to him, but I've heard him in my dreams, calling me over to the window, out into the snow, down the frozen roads and over freezing cold bridges as we walk hand in hand. Warm in cold. Of the Earth and from a frozen Hell. 

I've always known he was a demon, always known, even as I walked with him, even as I grew taller and reached his height, that he was not someone I should wish to talk to. He'd end up being the death of me more likely than he'd be my life, but every time I dreamt of him or saw him through my frosty window, my soul pulled toward him, and I was helpless but to follow. 

By the pull I felt deep inside me, like another force of gravity pulling me towards the window, even in my sleep I knew he must be close. So, I blinked my eyes open, and I sat up slowly. I glanced around my cold room, wondering if maybe he'd come inside for once. But no, I was still pulled toward my window, so I stood in my thin pajama set and padded over to the window. 

He was there, staring into my room from across the street. His eyes were unwavering as I opened the window. I waved at him, and the faintest of smiles danced across his lips. I blinked and he was in front of me, still smiling. He put an arm on the windowsill and rested his jaw in his open hand. 

"I was wondering how long you would keep me to your dreams and your winters," the demon said, voice chilly like the air outside. 

"Why can't I stay away from you," I asked. It was a question I'd always longed to have answered. His smile dimmed slightly. 

"You aren't the only one like you. There are many humans that often find themselves drawn to things they should avoid. Magic for some, drugs for others. Demons and angels. Angels never end well, usually with holy conflagrations. Demons though, we treat our Companions better than most would think. The holy texts tend to cast us in poor light," he said, his voice colder now. 

"But why do we gravitate towards these things that could harm us? Why are we like this," I asked. He sighed. 

"Humans have a strange proclivity towards a certain emptiness of soul. We demons say that those like you have hollow souls. They seek out something to complete them, even if it may end up harming or killing them. Humans, we find, can hardly stand to feel incomplete. Not all would agree, but we view our bonding with you hollows as a mercy. Better the best of us than the worst of the world," the demon said. I had a thought, and attempted to swallow it down, push it away. But I couldn't, so I licked my lips and asked as the cold wind dried them out again. 

"Would you make me feel complete," I asked. He straightened. 

"Might I come in? It is easier to discuss when we're both in the same room," he said. I nodded, and again he was inside in the span of a blink. The room got colder. 

"How do you do that," I asked. He smiled in light of my curiosity. 

"It's part of my power. I am of the frozen Hell, and as such I can move through it and the cold as freely as you walk in your yard. I find it more appropriate to ask permission, as you might ask to walk through another's yard," he said. 

"Wow. That's awesome. Can you make ice," I asked. He nodded. 

"That and all other aspects of winter. Snow, frost, ice, sleet and hail, blizzards and flurries," he said. "You asked if I could make you feel complete. I can. If I bond with you, we will become as one. Part of the same whole. You will share my powers, and we may share thoughts. It is not always the same for every Escort and Companion," he said. I blinked. 

"Escort? Companion? What are those," I asked. 

"They are the two members of a demon-human pair. The demon is the Escort, meant to keep the Companion, the human, safe. Companions have multiple benefits, actually, that most humans don't think or ask about. Would you like to know," he asked. I nodded eagerly. 

"Demons often fight with each other. We're like a family that doesn't get along well. Just as we can complete you, you can complete us. We just don't need it so badly as humans. You can provide us company and solace, support. Our powers can become overwhelming at times, and it helps to share them between two souls," he said. 

"I'm glad you guys have a way to make it easier," I said softly. I hesitated before sitting on my bed. "So, how do we…"

He didn't answer. Instead, he took my hand and raised it to his lips. The kiss was cold as dry ice, and it spread through my body. It gathered behind my eye and settled, aching and throbbing before settling. 

"As I said, it's different for all of us. For some, they needn't even touch. I know of others that choose to be much more intimate. An acquaintance of mine lives within and without his Companion. They called it a symbiote-esque relationship. Another friend saved his Companion from death in a subsection of the Hell of fire, bonding them in that moment through a storm of fire. I rather think our bonding represents our relationship quite well, don't you," he asked. I nodded, a giant smile on my lips. 

"My name is Kim Geonhak. What's your name," I asked him. 

"Seoho. Pleased to be yours, Geonhak."


	6. Victory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> House Chae chose her for their illustrious family, and for that she shall be eternally grateful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hyungwon is not mentioned directly, but it's who I imagined as the vampiric Lord that turns our main character and is the one the vampire family is named after. Shoot Out era Hyungwon for the win!!

The girl was unsure in her steps as she walked up the marble stairs on stiletto heels, a modest black dress draped over her slim form. She fiddled idly with the blood-red strip of silk around her neck as she craned her head back to look up at the face of an imposing, ancient castle. Her rich, chocolate brown locks blow around her face as a light wind blows through, chilling her to the bone. It feels as if the black lace sleeves of her dress aren't even there. 

The heavy, metal-trimmed oak double doors creak open, and the young maiden startles. A pair of butlers are standing in the open doorway, bowing a full ninety degrees, perfectly still. She breathes deeply and walks through the doors, her black heels clicking softly against the floor. She can't see, but as the butlers close the doors, they nod to each other; the girl has an undeniable charm, no doubt what drew the master towards her. 

Another man, dressed more casually but no less elegantly than the butlers at the door, walks up to the girl and offers a hand in guidance. She takes it graciously and lets herself be led down long corridors, past doors closed tightly, towards the grand hall of the old castle. 

The girl does not expect so many strangers to be in the room. She was told little, simply that the owner of this estate wished for her to be present at tonight's meeting. She knew of the rumors, that the owner was a vampire, or a witch, but she'd never been able to believe them. 

She is led down the luxurious, red velvet carpet, towards the man sitting on a worn throne. It must have been beautiful once, but it was now chipped and cracked, near to falling apart. The girl does not know what to expect, but it is certainly not for the man on the throne to stand and start clapping, as if she were someone of great significance. 

"My brothers and sisters, sons and daughters, I present the last addition to our House," says the lanky man as he extends a delicate, pale, long-fingered hand towards her. His hair is stark white, and his eyes begin to fill with a subdued crimson light that the girl can see even from her place so many yards from the throne. She's not even halfway to the throne, and the crowd has stood and begun to clap. 

"After tonight, our war shall commence. When she awakens anew, she will bring us many victories. A mother must set a more than adequate example for her children, after all," the man says. In any other circumstances, the girl would be more than alarmed. However, the longer she stares at the man's bright eyes, the less she feels her own presence in the world. She no longer belongs to herself.

She's reached the throne at the very top, and the man takes her face in his large hands. They are very cold. She gasps at the slight pain of his teeth piercing her neck, quieting as he drinks deep and the crowd cheers. She is unsure of what happens next, but it burns hotly through her whole body. 

When she wakes, she has only one thought. "I've been pledged to House Chae. What gifts they've given me. Surely it is only right that I repay them with blood. They deserve their victory."


	7. Blink

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys were already in the house when Taemin moved in, and they were hardly there for longer than it took him to blink.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story involves mentions of very violent deaths, and has somewhat graphic depictions of gore and serious injuries. Beware if you're sensitive to such topics!!

Ever since I've moved into this house, it's been blink and you'll miss them. There are boys in the house, six young boys with wicked grins and pain buried under joy on their faces. The neighbors said the house was haunted, but they were a few minutes late in greeting me; the boys had flashed before my eyes minutes before the knock on the door, the six of them lounging on the couch and floor.

I never saw them for longer than half a second, but I wanted to know more about them. From the brief glimpses I got of them, they had been hurt badly before they died. There was blood all over them, matted in their hair and dried in spatters over their faces. I had a burning desire to know more, one I could hardly begin to explain.

I tried to be patient. I did my best to show I wasn't of any harm, sometimes sang into the open air of dark halls or spoke out loud, just random thoughts and compliments about the house. Slowly, it began to take more than one blink for them to vanish from my sight. It became long enough to send them a smile, and then a wave. I took in everything I could.

They were older than I thought at first glance, probably from about 17 to 19 years old. Their death was evidently also far worse than I could have thought. Their clothes were stained with splotches of blood, ripped in multiple places. Sometimes I could see blood still pumping from their wounds, spilling to the floor and disappearing with them.

They had a wide variety of hair colors. Three were varying shades of light brown, one was an orange blond, a fifth had green hair, and another peach pink. Their clothes, mostly light -originally- excepting the roset boy in dark blue overalls, had been tinted with all manner of reds, both light and dark.

They were not easy to look upon, but it was easy to want to understand them. They were not easy to talk with, but they were easy to see when they wanted to be seen. They were always in my line of sight when they wanted to be noticed.

One night, I heard a piercing scream. I woke up from my dream screaming as well, and one of the boys was by my bedside, hands over his ears as he screamed with me. It was the first time there'd only been one boy in my sight. I stared at him with wide eyes, chest heaving.

"You're awake! Get up, we need to go! Someone's broken in," the verdet said urgently, tugging at my hand. I could feel his hand in mine, mostly solid and very cold. I stood up clumsily, feet tangling in my sheets, stumbling after him as he ran from my room quickly.

"Where are we going," I whispered frantically. He cast a glance over his shoulder, his eyes getting a little bigger.

"Attic. Y'know, the entrance behind the bookshelf," he panted, winded from running. I figured that was reasonable considering the gaping wound between his ribs. I could hear air wheezing out of the wound along with his mouth.

I missed him opening the door in the shelf, but it slammed shut behind us as we pounded up the old stairs. A few were broken, and I had to step over them. I noticed that the ghost ignored the broken ones and walked right over them as if they were still there. There was a faint pounding on the bookshelf, and the boy shrieked as a booming laugh echoed deeply through the stairwell, sitting deep in my ears.

I heard an echoey crack, and saw that the boy had broken a step and fallen. I helped him up and pushed him farther up the stairs. I watched in horror as a pale hand reached through my chest and pulled at the boy's tan jumper. That wasn't right, was it? Hadn't he said someone broke in?

Regardless of my confusion, I followed up the stairs, pulling the hand away from him. We seemed to run forever, up and up and never getting anywhere. Images flashed past my eyes, pictures of the man slashing deep between the verdet's ribs, of the invader pushing knives through throats and hearts and pulling a trigger aimed at one, two, three and four together, five, six heads, hands, knees, anywhere he could fixate on quickly. It was no wonder they were in such bad shape.

"This is the worst side of us. We've been trying to hide it, hide ourselves, but you wouldn't back down. You saw through everything."

Ahead of me, the verdet still ran frantically up the stairs. I noticed that they repeated in the same pattern, that he kept breaking a step and falling, getting pushed up and grabbed and freed, restarting the cycle. Another boy was assaulted in my field of vision, black hair fanning about his head as he was pushed harshly to the floor. I hadn't seen him in the house yet.

"We're twisted. Oh god, we're so twisted. We haven't missed these memories, but if it saves you from us, we're plenty happy to show them. You don't deserve what might happen, Lee Taemin. You're too good a man." I began to cry in light of the voice. It was mid-toned, trying to stay monotone but unable to as old emotions bubbled up through the cracks.

Suddenly I was in front of a mirror, staring at my own face. I watched, enraptured, as blood filled my eye, streamed from my nose and spilled over my lips. I coughed, covered my mouth too late to stop the spatter of blood against the reflective surface. I felt something rip into my side and groaned, pulling my hand across my body to hold my side. My hand came into contact with something warm and wet, and it came away covered in crimson.

"Let me in! I want to understand! I want to help," I cried out helplessly. With a rush of air, I was on the stairs again. The verdet pushed open a door and fell into the room beyond as the intruder tackled him. I shouted in surprise and pulled the man off the young boy. He struggled in my grip and kicked out, hitting the boy in the head. I growled and wrestled him to the side, throwing him angrily into the wall. He tried to stumble forward, but I pushed him back against the wall and put my hands around his neck, squeezing until he went limp in my grip.

I fell back and flexed my hands. They ached. Tears were streaming down my cheeks. I felt a pair of arms wrap around me and I jumped, eyes snapping open as I looked for the source of the arms anxiously. It was the verdet. I hugged him back and noticed that his breath, while all over the place, was only leaving his body from his mouth. I pulled back, and saw that he was no longer wounded. A smile spread over my face of its own accord, gone in an instant as I looked around and saw the small bodies scattered like leaves over the floor. He noticed, and nodded with a sad look on his face, a hot light burning in his eyes.

"No one else knew about the entrance. He killed our parents too, but the police found them and took them away. No one could ever find us, not even when we tried to show them. They refused to see us. They weren't like you," the boy said quietly. He was silent for a few moments, staring at the bare bones on the old floors before looking back to me. "I'm Zhong Chenle. Thank you for saving me, Taemin." I blinked, and he was gone. A tear fell down my face and I turned to look at the other boys, leaning against walls or sitting on crates or standing by their bodies.

"You were brave, Taemin. Chenle was always so scared of the stairway," said the roset. I nodded. "I'm sorry I showed you so many terrible things, but we haven't been able to move on like Mark did. They found him in the hallway. He stayed around for a few years, but he got tired of this house and our memories. I'm Na Jaemin. Take good care of this place for us, yeah?" I nodded, and he too dissolved into nothing.

"Jaemin was always so insistent that we hid. If the police couldn't help us, couldn't see us, he said, then who would," said the lightest and shortest of the three brunets. He gave a fond smile and lifted his face toward the ceiling, spreading his arms wide. "I was Huang Renjun, the one who brought light into the world." And he was gone as well, in a soft burst of light.

"He so loved to say that when he walked into a room. He'd always turn off the light if it was already on and walk back in, just so he could turn the light on and say that," the darkest brunet said. It was still a pretty light brown for being the darkest. He had an angular face, and he smiled with his eyes, even though it was just a small, fond smile you might give your best friend. "It was nice seeing you, Taemin. Lee Jeno, signing out." There were only two boys left.

"I'm going to miss this place, though not the memories," said the tan brunet. His face was a bit more round than the others had been, but it suited him well. "Lee Donghyuck, Full Sun who brings joy, told me to tell you it was his honor to make the acquaintance of the great Lee Taemin." With a bow, he was gone.

"Of course they leave me to say goodbye alone. No respect for the youngest, _tsk_. So many theatrics too," said the orange blond. He pinched the bridge of his nose as he shook his head. He glanced at the bodies before looking up at me. "Taemin, I'm glad you didn't give up. You said you wanted to understand, right? You took Jeno's part in the memory, only you actually got rid of the man that broke in. He killed us first, and then went to get our parents. Mark woke up too late and tried to run to the attic, 'cause that's where our parents always told us to go. The intruder got him on the way to our parents."

"We watched the police come to our house in the middle of the night, after the neighbors called the station and reported hearing gunshots and screaming. They wouldn't see us like you; I don't think we were strong enough. They took Mark and our parents away. Our parents slept through the whole thing, and they didn't come back to the house. We were left up here, reported missing I guess. No one has been able to see us, though they could feel us. See things we moved, feel our presence in a room."

"It's been scary, but thanks to you, it's over now. We'll come back and visit sometime, hmm? Even if you move, we'll find you. I'm Park Jisung, youngest of the best, or worst, haunted house in the city," he finished quietly. He began to fade away slowly. His voice rang out, bouncing around the room, faint and ghostly, just before he was fully gone.

"I've always wanted to be buried by a brave man."

I bought six plots in the graveyard, right next to each other. I didn't know their parents, and there was nothing in the papers about them. It must have happened ages ago. I guessed as well as I could who was who, and buried them under headstones that said their names, along with the words, "May his tumultuous soul rest in eternal peace."


	8. Euphoria

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first think Jungkook sees when he wakes up from the longest nap of his life is the sunrise. The first thing he feels when he wakes up is euphoria, followed by pain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vampire!Jungkook  
That said, there's a slightly graphic description of severely burned skin being ripped.

Euphoria flooded through me as I stared at the sunrise. Though I had been asleep for years, had experienced nothing and felt nothing that passed by me, I had missed the sun. I'd missed it more than I could've imagined, and though my skin was beginning to feel uncomfortably warm, I couldn't tear my gaze away from the searing oranges and pinks, the dashes of red. 

My first sunrise since waking was a violent one, stark and harsh, angry against my too pale skin. My cheeks filled with a blush, burning hot against my coldness. As I leaned closer, my dark hair fell over my eyes, so much longer now than it had been when I fell asleep. And as I began to think that maybe this heat was more than the sunlight, a voice shrill with alarm rang through the room. 

"JUNGKOOK! GET AWAY FROM THERE!"

I turned quickly, hissing as my hair hit my eyes from the force of my shocked turn. A very concerned man was standing at the opposite end of the room, staying to the shadows. 

"How do you-"

"Get out of the sun, Jungkook!"

As he said this, I noticed that my back was burning hot. I stepped forward, gasping at the sensation of my skin pulling apart. The man grimaced and ran forward faster than my eyes could follow him, grabbing my arm and pulling me to the side, out of the searing sunlight. I stumbled into the wall, ramming into it shoulder first. I felt skin tear away as very thin blood trickled from the torn skin. 

"Don't you remember what we told you, Jungkook," the man asked mournfully. I shook my head while I held my arm. He sighed and took my hand in his, beginning to lead me through a door not drenched in sunlight. It opened into a bathroom, and I saw in the mirror that I was severely sunburned, like none I'd ever had in my life. It was redder than a boiled lobster and blistered terribly. It looked like a burn from a fire. 

"Jungkook, it's been years since we turned you. You've been a vampire for decades now, but you just wouldn't wake up. And now you have, and the first thing you've done is the one thing you can't. The sun is deadly to us, Jungkook. You can't ever go outside during the day, and I'm sorry for that but it's the truth. The sooner you accept it, the sooner you can enjoy everything else about our life," the vampire said. 

As he tended to my burned skin, giving me a glass of what smelled like blood and wrapping me up in gauze, I remembered my encounter with the sunrise, and I wondered if my new aversion to it had colored it more harshly than it truly was. Slowly, my euphoria morphed into pain, soured into aching sadness rooted deep in my heart.


	9. Blinded

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Those born to magic were punished, whether they used their magic or not. Humans, as always, think they know and understand everything, but they couldn't be farther from the truth. Magic will always find a way to thrive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seer!Zitao  
Mentions of mutilation, fighting, and bloody noses from basketballs.

The punishments for humans are far lesser than the punishments for the others. When a human thief is caught, they lose the offending hand so they cannot steal with it again. A human blasphemer loses their tongue so their falsehoods cannot be spread further. Rapists are castrated and murderers are put to death in a manner similar to the death they forced upon their victim. 

Ward weavers lose both hands. Werewolves are shot full of silver and vampires are staked out in the sun. Witches have their hands cut off and their tongues cut out while they watch their home burn. Seers, when found, lose their sight and their hearing, so they may no longer see and hear the flow of time, and sometimes their tongues as well, so they may no longer speak prophecy. 

I never spoke prophecies, but I saw them and heard them, and so I was blinded and put under oath to never speak of what I had seen and heard, and was deafened after I gave my word. I was punished for being born a vessel for the overwhelming flow of time; there was too much of it for even the universe to handle on its own, and so the way I saw changed. 

I no longer used my eyes and ears to experience time. It simply appeared in my mind, and it was unavoidable. Time was demanding, and though I had no eyes to see with, though my ears were ruptured and useless, time demanded I saw what was to come. That was how I knew when I would escape. 

My internal clock had always been uncannily accurate, and it told me the time of day the guards came to give me food, the time they put me to sleep and woke me up, sent me to the courtyard to exercise, until I could do those things without their prompting. I was sure they thought I was able to use magic, but they were wrong, of course. Humans were always wrong. 

It was time to go to the courtyard. I'd memorized the path there, could've walked it on my own at the proper time if the guards would've left the door unlocked. But being blind and deaf wasn't enough. No, they had to lead me everywhere, in cuffs no less, harshly pulling and walking slightly too fast. I stumbled constantly on walks with the guards, and sometimes my eyelids would flutter open in a futile effort to see where I was going. 

The sun was warm on my skin, cooled to the temperature of the cells. They kept the wing with supernatural prisoners colder than was comfortable, as an added insult. I couldn't stop the smile at the warmth, so refreshing after the permanent chill I'd come to know in the prison, and the guard shook me roughly while, trying to shake it off of me. Eventually he uncuffed me and I wandered over to the far corner of the yard, beyond the basketball court. 

I sat and waited, wondering if it would be today. The day would be warm, and I would smile and be shaken roughly by a big, ugly guard, and I'd sit by the court and wait until someone lost the ball, and then it would bounce across the concrete and-

-hit me square in the nose. I leaned forward and groaned, feeling blood drip onto my hand. I knew that right now, there should be a fight breaking out over me, between a few boys upset that I'd been hurt by someone's carelessness. There were only a couple of boys who acted kindly towards me, while everyone else preferred calling me 'freak' and 'unnatural' when I couldn't hear. It angered Luhan and Yifan to no end, though Luhan preferred to remain passive. 

His hands rubbed my back, pulling me up gently. Luhan was a fairy, his wings cut from his back and his right eye missing; the fae held flowers in their right eyes, the source of their magic. He lead me towards the guards, intending to ask for medical assistance. Yifan, the brave, muted siren, was still throwing punches. His role was making the distraction bigger as the guards let us in so Luhan and I could sneak off to find Jongin. 

As all things preordained by time tend to do, it worked oddly well. The guard let us in and got distracted, and I lead Luhan towards Jongin's cell. It was funny how little the humans knew of magic and its users, what they believed because we let them think their punishments worked on us. Silver and the sun really did work, and so did cutting the hands from a weaver to an extent. But there were always ways around handicaps with magic. 

Jongin, having already been indentured to the plan, teleported himself out of the solitary confinement cell and let us grab him, taking us to a small closet and leaving us there while he searched for Yifan. He left before I could show him where he'd be, as I knew he would. But he found Yifan regardless, and he took him to the house where the other 8 witches were waiting. They were undiscovered and complete. He came back for us, teleported away just as a confused janitor opened the door to the sight of what was oddly reminiscent of three maimed men disappearing into thin air, gone before he could fully see. 

I'd have gone to Yixing myself, but he came to me. He sat me on the couch and set to restoring my hearing first. It came back slowly, and the first thing I did was thank Luhan and Yifan for their help. I laughed at their sputtering and explained what time had done while I was absent my ears and eyes. 

Yixing restored us all, and I answered Junmyeon before the first word of the question was past his lips. 

"I'm Huang Zitao, and I would love to stay here and serve as your seer."


	10. Collapse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The mines were the last place you wanted to be sent, and Ten had been there for over three years now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This involves mentions of a tuberculosis-like disease and brief description of being buried in a collapsed tunnel.

It was not dark or cold in the mines. It was dimly lit and oppressively warm, both thanks to the luminescent fumes that were constantly emitted from the otherworldly ore we were there for. Just as in traditional mines, though, the stuff in the air was killing us. 

It had been raining constantly, not a break for weeks on end. I knew that not because I'd gone up -we never left the mines once we went under- but because the people coming in told us, and because the water had permeated so deeply that the walls of the shafts were beginning to get soft. They'd start to collapse soon. 

It was a day like any other, one where we were desperately wishing this planet wasn't so rainy. We prayed that maybe, just once, whatever gods were out there would take pity on us. Though some would say that the rain was their pity, flooding the ground until rumbling was reverberating through the tunnels far underground as the strain on the compacted walls began to become too much. 

I could hear it, right on the edge of my hearing. A low rumble, one that would increase exponentially throughout the following days. I swung the pickaxe and coughed as a cloud of dim yellow gas erupted from the impact. I doubled over, coughing and shaking violently as I struggled to get fresh air. 

Nothing down here was fresh, not even the water seeping out of the dirt in front of me, slowly turning to mud. I eyed it as I held my hand in front of my mouth, a weak attempt to keep more of the gas out of my lungs. When the fit passed, I pulled my hand away from my mouth and looked down, whimpering when I saw the faint glow settled deep in the pool of blood in my hand. 

I'd been here too long. It was infecting my blood now, making it darker and brighter. It was tuberculosis but brighter. I pressed my forehead to the lukewarm dirt, tears falling from my closed eyes. I took a deep breath of dirty air and stood, taking my pickaxe with me. I slung it over my shoulder and walked deeper into the tunnel, telling one of the newer boys close to the end of it to go take my place. He wouldn't understand for a few more days at least, but he said a cheerful, "Thanks, Ten," before scurrying off. The gas was thicker down here, having not yet warmed enough to go farther up the steeply slanted tunnel. 

From that day on, I swung my ax without stopping, coughing the entire time. The wall was painted with black blood glowing a soft yellow, distorted by the water dripping down the walls with more intensity every day. It was still raining up above, and the rumbling was getting louder. I hit as many weak points in the walls as I could, getting the last section ready for what was to come. It would be easier for it to break down if it had some help. 

I began sending the boys higher, told them to take more frequent breaks and gave them my food to persuade them. The more I did this, the more I could tell they didn't want to. No one ever told me no, though, because I was the closest thing to a father, older brother, manager they had, and unlike the people who practically owned us, I actually cared. 

They were all gone but the boy I'd first sent higher when it began to happen. He'd insisted on coming farther down when he heard what I was doing, and he wouldn't leave no matter how much I told him to leave. When clods of waterlogged dirt began to fall, his gaze snapped towards me. I stood as far back in the tunnel as I could and dropped the pickaxe, my arms feeling much lighter without its awkward weight. 

"Ten, you need to get out of there. Ten, it's collapsing, get over here," Yangyang started saying. I shook my head and sat down. 

"It's over, Yangyang. Go away, leave me be. I know what I'm doing," I wheezed. I could barely breathe. 

"No, Ten, I'm not letting you do this to yourself! You can't just die like this, you've got so much left to-"

"I'm already dying! It's in my blood and my tears, it was there before I sent you higher! If I don't die today, it'll be tomorrow, or next week, or next month. I don't want to be alive anymore! Go back up, tell everyone Mr. Ten gave you a break! Don't die here with me, Yangyang, you can still live for a bit longer. You can make friends, make the most of your time here. I can't, not anymore," I said, pain making my voice hoarse and strained. I coughed, feeling my blood drip down my chin. Yangyang knelt down in front of me, holding my arms in his cold hands. His hands had always been too cold to belong in this place. 

"Kun wouldn't have wanted this, Ten, and you know it," Yangyang reprimanded gently. I smiled at the thought of him. 

"You're right, he wouldn't. He also wouldn't want you to die here with me though. Go away, Yang, I'll be fine. I'm just gonna lie down and take a nap, like this," I said as I curled up on my side. Yangyang was crying as he stood up, walking backwards. There wasn't so much gas down quite this far, because there hadn't been all that much ore. The gas behind him glowed faintly, illuminating his silhouette like a halo. He tripped over a rock, though, and got a firsthand look at the dirt collapsing in on him. I cried dim tears in the darkness as I heard him groan weakly. 

It kept collapsing, burying me under tons of dirt. It pressed in on me, and after I coughed, I couldn't find the strength to draw in more air. I couldn't move, or breathe, and then I couldn't feel. I knew everyone would be sad for Yangyang and I, but they'd have to move on. Eventually, the owner would force them to dig back down here, remove our bodies, and keep going. 

It stopped raining on the surface of the barren planet.


	11. Dawn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The dawn had kept us trapped for far too long.

Everyone always said that dawn meant good things. The beginning of a new day, one that could be better than the last. New hope, new inspiration. It was used in artwork, storytelling, lessons and metaphors worldwide.

Dawn was overused. It was a name, a symbol for things it never really meant, an empty hope. Dawn never meant any of what humanity said it did. It meant death and despair and hatred. It was there to keep dangerous things from venturing into the day, to put them down and push them permanently into the night. 

What better way for the gods to cover up their mistakes than to hide them in the darkness and seal them between the doors of dusk and dawn, forever unable to see the vivid blue sky without dying a horrible death? 

Humans were safe after dawn, and we nighttime creatures made it our purpose to drag down the dawn. We just hadn't figured it out yet. We were close, though, and the world would soon shake in its foundations.


	12. Examine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Consumption Of Blood From An Old Ass Golden Chalice Retrieved From A Fancy Demon House Resulting In Dead Torture Victims' Belongings Transferring To Demon Torturer Hwanwoong™
> 
> Or COBFAOAGCRFAFDHRIDTVBTTDTH. Y'know, for short.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's in the tags as well, but this will mention the consumption of demon and human blood and the cutting of palms in order to bleed into the aforementioned fancy chalice. 
> 
> Enjoy!!

The three pairs of human and demon examined each other carefully, the humans curious and a bit apprehensive, the demons possessive and wary. They all knew, of course, that everyone was already paired, but while it was uncommon for demons to try and bond with more than one human, it was still known to happen. 

"Uhm, Seoho said we were coming today to discuss maybe becoming a coven? When does, uhm, when do we stop glaring and start talking magicky things," asked a tall blond boy, one eye frosted over with white. It didn't look like he was able to see with it. The noiret demon with the icy eyes beside him laughed, short and muffled by his hand. It seemed so out of place on the cold demon. 

Hwanwoong gripped my hand tightly. He was scared of and intimidated by the other two demons, much larger and more powerful than him. He'd told me when he got the invitation that he didn't often speak with other demons, and when they did it was in a far more professional manner. He didn't know how to deal with other demons casually, and he was uncomfortable. I could tell he wanted to hide, and it was only my arm around his waist and my left hand in his that was keeping him outside. 

"Introductions are probably wise, Hak. Unless you already know everyone," the icy demon asked amusedly. The ashy blond blushed and shook his head, scratching the back of it. 

"Ah, no, I don't. You're right," he said, laughing lightly. He had an embarrassed smile on his face. "I'm Geonhak. People have asked and yes, I can see out of both eyes. Seoho is from the frozen Hell. Warmer than he looks, right?" I nodded with a small smile. They were cute together. I nudged Hwanwoong's side, and he glanced at me, shaking his head with his lips pressed tightly together. I sighed in exasperation. 

"I'm Dongju. Keonhee is the freak with blue hair-"

"I object strongly to that-"

"-and he said you were from the frozen half of Hell, Seoho?" The noiret nodded in response to the red-head's question. "Nice. We're from the Forge. It's insanely hot down there."

"Where'd you get that fancy gun from," Geonhak asked, eyeing the silver revolver at Dongju's waist. He smiled and pulled it out, showing it off. 

"Keonhee forged it for me. He modeled it after an old Remington, from the old West in the US. He did all this engraving by hand," he said proudly, a quiet enthusiasm buried under the layers of his voice. 

"Wah, daebak. That's amazing," the blond said, his jaw dropped open. The boy smiled and nodded, blushing as he put it back in his waistband. I knew by now that Hwanwoong was not going to talk on his own, his usual confidence eradicated by the other two demons. 

"I'm Youngjo, and this is Hwanwoong," I said, squeezing him lightly to give him reassurance. 

"What do you do," Dongju asked. The demon at my side swallowed and blushed. 

"Just uh, y'know, torturing. And uhm, I possess shit too, but I'm pretty good at getting people to talk, I guess, so..." 

The red-head raised a brow skeptically. "Torture? How'd you two end up meeting then," he asked. I smiled. 

"There was a crack in my wall, and I listened to him every night for years before I got up the courage to say something to him. You wouldn't expect it from how he's acting now, but he's usually much better spoken than this. He pretty much just had to say three sentences and I was convinced," I said, laughing fondly. Hwanwoong laughed with me. 

"You're exaggerating, Young, it wasn't that fast. Although you were pretty set on me before you ever saw me, from what I remember," he gasped out in between breaths. I smiled widely. 

"What, you don't want me to make you look better? Now that doesn't sound like the Hwan I know! Where'd you put him, eh," I asked. He simply laughed and shook his head. 

"As much fun as this is, it's not what we're here for," Hwanwoong said, wiping his eyes. He took a few breaths before shaking his hands out, grabbing my hand again afterwards. "So, how does making a coven even work? Aren't they usually witch things?" Seoho nodded. 

"Generally, yes. But anything with enough magic can create a coven bond. And if anyone protests, I'd say we definitely have enough power to convince them to stay quiet," the cat-eyed demon said. "We'll basically just all have to agree to be in the coven and then let our blood fall into a medium of our choice: generally, it's fire. After that we'll have to register with some fancy council so they'll recognize us as valid and not kill us. Everyone understand?" We all nodded. I raised my hand, and Seoho acknowledged me with an amused smile. 

"Yes, so, I've got an idea. First, how dangerous is it to consume a demon's blood, just in general," I asked. Hwanwoong turned red and I shushed him, trying to pay attention to Seoho. 

"Generally, it depends on the demon. My blood would freeze yours, and Keonhee's would boil it. Hwanwoong's would..."

"It'd most likely drive you crazy. Of course, all that's non-Companion effects," he muttered darkly. I raised a brow at him and pulled him closer to my chest. 

"What's all this brooding about all of a sudden, hmm," I asked. He huffed. 

"I believe I know what you are thinking, and I'll have you know I do not approve of it," he said. I uncrossed his arms for him and pulled him in front of me, wrapping my arms around his waist. 

"Now now, I'm still your boy, Hwan-ah, this is just a maybe coven thing," I whispered in his ear. He sighed, resigning more quickly than he usually would, and glanced at the others. 

"He wants us to bleed into a cup and, presumably, drink from it," Hwanwoong explained, sounding rather glum. As if he couldn't accept that his boyfriend wanted to drink blood from other demons. 

"Well, it's not exactly a common way to form a coven-"

"We wouldn't exactly be a common coven though, would we," I asked. We all agreed, and Hwanwoong begrudgingly slipped into his old home to find a chalice he thought proper for the event. The one he presented after crawling up through the crack in the floor was rose gold, engraved with intricate designs and studded with small jewels. 

"Woah, where did you even find that," Geonhak asked. I brushed wood chips and plaster from Hwanwoong's hair while he answered the curious boy. 

"I tend to, uhm, torture people and usually I get all their stuff when they, uh, die. So like, I've got a bunch of random junk," he said bashfully. He'd said before that the role of a torturer was one of the most embarrassing to have as a demon, since it suggested they were unable to do anything else. 

And then Keonhee pulled a fancy dagger from his high leather boot and held his hand over the golden chalice. The blade was sharp on both sides, and he loosely clasped Dongju's hand in his before placing the blade between them. He whispered in the human's ear before he nodded, and they both pressed their palms against the sharp metal. 

Their blood smoke and hissed as the scarlet drops fell through open air, churning in the soft metal cup. The Hell demon pulled the blade down, cutting them further. More blood splashed down into the chalice while we all watched. Then they pressed their hands together, containing the blood between their over-warm skin. It was gory and macabre, possibly even downright sickening to some, but I thought it adorable. 

Seoho and Geonhak's blood sent up tendrils of mist that dissipated quickly. The icy blood, almost frozen, was thick and viscous, like honey. The coldness of their blood counteracted boiling heat of Keonhee and Dongju's, stopping the boiling and settling the crimson liquid into stasis. Seoho handed the ornate, bloody dagger to Hwanwoong. 

He pulled my left hand forward with a shaking hand of his own, and I knew it was out of fear to harm me that he was shaking. After all, it was hard to be afraid of blades in a profession like his. 

"Dearest, you know I hate the thought of hurting you. I'm opposed to this idea of yours, not because it requires you to drink from others, but because I have to hurt you for it to happen," Hwanwoong said, sounding miserable. I ran the fingers of my free hand through his silver hair and placed a gentle kiss on his forehead. 

"I know, Hwan-ah. This is necessary though. Don't be kind to me. I'm not a child, Hwan, I can take a little pain. You liken me to flowers, but I'm much stronger than them. Trust me as I trust you," I reassured him, pressing my forehead to his. He closed his eyes and sighed before opening them and walking backwards to stand on the other side of the old chalice he'd gotten from his house. 

Despite what I'd said, he was more than gentle as he turned my hand to be vertical over the cup. He touch was tender, more a caress than something inherently violent as the stained blade dug into my skin and split it, acidic blood spilling out and joining the pool of blood. He went to cut his own palm, but I took the blade from him before he could. 

I was careful not to cut him too deeply, letting his bright redness slip over his callused skin and into the cup along with everyone else's before pressing a kiss over the cut and clasping our hands together again. I licked my lips clean of his blood and smiled at the citrus taste of it. He smiled and kissed me lightly before pulling back and grabbing the golden chalice. 

He put his hands on the rim and pulled apart, coming away with six rose gold shot glasses, all engraved and jewel studded. He handed them out to everyone, and I stared at the small cup of blood in my hand. We all went bottoms up, and someone muttered a "what the fuck". Probably me, confused by the cup thing he did. 

It was citrusy, minty, and cinnamony on my tongue, three flavors that shouldn't have worked so well together but did anyways. A warm fog settled in my head, staying there before fading out. The palm side of my middle finger burned, and I turned it over to see a word in Gothic font seemingly tattooed onto the pale skin. 

"ONEUS" is what the elaborate lettering said, and I stared at it with furrowed brows until Seoho muttered, "Alright, which one of you did it?" Geonhak sheepishly raised his hand, explained he had thought it was a cute coven name, and no one had the heart to tell him off for it, even if we looked like we had gang tattoos.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also find me on Twitter under @catfacekathryn 
> 
> I'm always open to new friends, especially if you wanna talk about my writing!! 👀


	13. Adrenaline

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How could you blame a vampire for chasing after adrenaline when it was the only vice they had left?

My kind were often described as adrenaline fueled. We lived off the rush of energy that accompanied so many different stimuli. Fear, excitement, anger. Many called us junkies for the fast pounding of hearts, the labored and quickened pace of breathing, the dilated pupils and scent of desperation. 

But of course, that was the nature of predators, was it not? To revel in the terror of prey? How was it wrong to give in to your nature when it was all you had left, when it was the only thing that made you feel normal again?

Humanity hated vampires, and vampires hated humanity. Humanity feared us, hated that we drank of them and chased them down the unlit streets of a city at night. We hated that our old vices were unable to affect us, that humanity hunted us down and executed us. We loved the thrill of the hunt and the drug that was their blood. Adrenaline became our new vice, and we chased after it with a fervor unlike any other. 

Vampires were, indeed, adrenaline junkies, much like human paramedics and EMTs were considered to be. The only difference was that we tried to hunt humans down while emergency responders tried to save them. It was often one adrenaline chaser after another, emergency responders coming to save our victims. 

In a world where vampires were the most hated species in existence, there was little human crime and less discrimination. They'd never get rid of us though. So long as there were humans around, vampires would exist.


	14. Trail

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yukhei had never been known to let his prey escape, and he wasn't about to start now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks McKenna for telling me to write werewolves and murder. 
> 
> This includes mentions of violent intent and past murder.

The city was different than the forest and mountains I was used to. It wasn't so open, and there were more smells to cover things up. It was brighter, so much harder to hide. There were cameras everywhere and there was always someone watching. 

The trail was weak, almost nonexistent in places, but my senses were stronger than the cloying fumes of the city. I followed the scent of sweat and vanilla through dark, dirty alleys and splashed through puddles of strange liquid. 

It was a man I was after, someone I'd chased all the way from the mountains so many miles outside this land of paved streets and loud cars. He was running from me, from his crimes, and he had to pay. 

He was giving me a run for my money, that was obvious. But where most others would have given up the chase, exhausted and discouraged by repeated failure, I refused to quit and kept moving, kept chasing. 

Dejun was running fast and hard, refusing to stop just like me. I knew he could feel me chasing after him, getting closer every night. The bond between us was stretched tight, tenuous and on the verge of snapping every day. Most would call it the bond between destined mates, but in my mind, it had twisted after he murdered my sister. 

I might have been able to forgive him with time, had he stayed and admitted his faults. But he ran, and my rage boiled into something dark and nasty, the bond souring. I wouldn't stop until I had him dead, preferably disemboweled and in several pieces. 

No one made transgressions against Wong Yukhei and ran from them for long.


	15. Contort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Woosung never meant for the storm to be this violent, but now that it's out of hand, all he wants is for Wooyoung to make it out alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has mentions of death, bodies, implied consumption of those bodies, and blood. Not a lot of any of that though.

The storm raging around us was more violent than any I'd ever experienced. The wind whipped frigid, stinging rain into my face and blew me back and forth over the rocking deck of the ship. The storm stirred up the already turbulent waters of the Atlantic and sent choppy waves careening into us, throwing everyone off balance. There were only 3 of the original 13 crew left on board. 

I heard a scream and a dull splash over the howling wind, and I knew it was only Woosung and I now. He was standing at the bow of the ship, his fingers white-knuckled from the strength he was putting into gripping the rails. He faced the wind, his mouth moving as he said something I couldn't hear. 

I made to move towards him, towards the safety provided by his dark eyes and water-soaked hair, but a wave washed hard and fast over the small boat. I reached out, trying to grab something, anything to stop me from going over the edge. The wave felt like a brick wall, and my hand ached from slamming into the less than sturdy railing of the vessel. I grabbed tight and willed myself to stay strong. 

Woosung noticed that I wasn't on board, and he was at the edge faster than I could blink. He leaned over the rail, a hand extended towards me, but I slipped when I reached for it. He lunged and grabbed my aching hand, struggling to keep ahold of me while anchoring himself to the boat. The waves beat around my legs, trying to pull me out of his reassuring grip and under the boat. 

"Wooyoung," he shouted, voice wrought with agony and distress. "Wooyoung, I'm sorry! I didn't mean for this to happen!"

"What are you talking about," I shouted back. His face contorted into an expression of pure misery and regret. 

"I didn't think the ocean would react like this! I just wanted a little storm! I wanted to see how you would react to a sunny little shower, with pretty rainbows! I didn't want this when I asked for rain," he yelled, practically screaming. He sounded so distressed I wanted to hug him and comfort him, even if I couldn't understand what he was talking about. 

"Woosung, it's not your fault! You couldn't have done this! We just- we all wanted a break from the sun, you didn't do this! Nature has always been-" I coughed violently as salty water filled my mouth. The ship rocked and Woosung slipped, just a little, just enough to send me waist deep into the water. It was so hard to hold on now. I was so tired. 

"We- you- you're different than I am, Wooyoung! You won't survive this like me, not on your own! I can't hold on forever, so please, let me save you," he said frantically. His voice was edged with mania, and tears streamed from his eyes. I didn't understand a word he said, but I swallowed thickly and nodded, clinging to him stubbornly. 

He sobbed even as he choked out words in some foreign language, his grip on me slowly getting looser. I felt tingling run down my arms, and I gasped as the prickling began to feel like needles. I lost feeling in my hands as the sensation reached my shoulders and started spreading throughout the rest of me. 

I didn't want to, but I let go. I slid under the tossing waves with more ease than I expected, staring at the dark surface for a moment before trying to go back up. I found I couldn't move my legs, and wondered when I'd missed the strange feeling moving so far. I let out the breath I was holding, my lungs burning in my chest. 

Woosung dove in after me, a dark shape in a cloud of bubbles next to the dark splotch of the boat being thrown about like a child's toy. He swam after me as I sunk deeper into the water, still just as violent down below as it was up above. 

I was no longer moving. I couldn't feel anything, could only see and hear and taste and smell. It was dark, dull, empty, and plain. It was watery and salty, and there was the slightest tinge of copper. Woosung grabbed my face before I could chase after the scent of blood, forcing me to look at him. 

"I'm sorry I couldn't really save you, Wooyoung. I tried, I tried so hard. A shark was the best I could do for you. I… I'd rather not be somewhere without you. I never told you before, thought it was a silly notion, but I love you. Could I- do you suppose I could stay with you," he asked, sounding and and downtrodden. I nodded with the last vestiges of humanity and watched as he changed shape, first into nothing but water, and then into a small fish. 

I chased after the blood I could smell, powerful body propelling me towards the scent faster than I'd have anticipated, Woosung swimming vigorously by my side. 

It must have made a funny sight; a shark and a tiny fish, swimming towards a mass of bodies thrown overboard, bleeding like nobody's business.


	16. Indulgence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was so easy to let yourself enjoy things you had no business doing in the first place. Minho knew first hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: if you are sensitive to self depreciation, no matter how detached the writing is when it's described, this is not for you. This is not a sunshiney drabble. It is a very negative take on indulgence and mentions multiple things that may be triggering, such as cheating and crushed hopes. 
> 
> The sugar daddy/baby thing is mostly implied. Like, heavily implied, but it's not stated explicitly in the writing.

Indulgence. A sin in and of itself. How easy it was the let yourself revel in the cloud of warmth that went hand in hand with the fulfillment of a guilty pleasure. Things that weren't supposed to be done were all the more interesting because of it. Infinitely more appealing with so much more reward for the reaping. 

Indulgence. More often harmful than not. Letting yourself believe you might someday have a personal relationship with a celebrity. Ignoring the signs of a cheating spouse, trusting their love and loyalty. Thinking that maybe those glances and smiles meant something more, deluding yourself and setting yourself up for the failure that would inevitably arrive when they walked around holding hands with another.

Indulgence. The reason I could not leave Hyunjin alone. The thing that pushed me to thinking that maybe this materialistic relationship could evolve into something more. He had a wife. I was nothing to him, nothing but a charity case that was happy to let him blow off steam and loose cash. 

Indulgence. It was too satisfying to bask in his glow. I knew it was all hopeless, and yet all it took to drag me back into his gentle grip was a single world. The smallest of giggles, the most miniscule quirk of lips. 

Indulgence. I was nothing more than an indulgence to Hyunjin, a little toy with which to lighten the burden of all that money burning a hole in his too-deep pockets. How a fool like me had ever even managed to make it into his line of sight was beyond me, and how I thought that I could ever go beyond a little dark spot on his bright horizons… my ridiculous faith in that baseless belief was unreasonable and unfathomable. It was a wonder I made it this far without breaking. 

Indulgence. The one simple action that would lead to my downfall. The irrational need to feel wanted, the impossible belief that I was worth everything he spent on me that was going to make me fall father than I'd been before I ever met him. I was a goner since the first time I let myself enjoy the way my name rolled off his tongue. "Minho," like a precious gift only he got to have, "I'd like you to have this." A gift only I got have, only given by the world's most sought after man. 

Indulgence. The seemingly harmless word wrought with so much pain from so many people. A plain thing that was the end of so many. The need for more; the feeling, the rush of pleasure. The thing that had been and would be the end of many millions.


	17. Echo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All his life, San had wanted to sail the seas, see the sights, and make decent money doing both. He'd gotten what he wanted by becoming a merchant for expensive goods. 
> 
> The pirates arrived too quickly for them to run.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has mentions of very violent death, people being beaten and thrown overboard, and grievous injuries.

The pirate ship overtook us faster than we could have anticipated. They boarded us, tied up the crew and passengers, took everything of worth from the hold, and burned our ship once their new cargo was firmly on the treacherous old deck. My heart ached as I watched the Tourmaline sink beneath the waterline, the fire hissing as it was put out by the salty water of the ocean. 

They threw most of the passengers overboard and forced almost all the crew to walk the plank. By the end of the encounter, I was down a crew, a ship, the cargo, and all but one of the passengers. The only one left besides me was a young girl who'd bought passage to Europe, a girl with strange, grey-blue hair. It was long, waving down around her elbows. Her eyes were sharp, her nose small, her lips plush but not overly large. Her name was Jang Dahye, but she went by Heize. 

She was a quiet girl with a beautiful voice. She danced like a reed in the wind, laughed with a quiet mirth, and was always staring off into the distance, contemplating questions and answers only she knew. 

Her eyes were softer now, red from tears. Her younger brother had been among the passengers in the Tourmaline, and she'd had to watch him be thrown over screaming. He'd resisted, and she had to watch him be beaten into submission. 

The pirates didn't speak our language. They'd taken us after we got closer to Europe, and all spoke either English or Spanish. I didn't know the difference well enough to be sure. 

They didn't seem to care that we didn't understand. They dragged us below decks all the same, down creaky wooden boards worn by countless feet tracking salty water. They creaked as we were shoved roughly. Heize tripped and fell, taking one of the over-tan pirates with her. He grunted and slapped her when he dragged her back to her feet, eliciting a pained yelp. 

They dragged us toward rusting metal cells, many housing decomposing corpses. The one they were pulling us towards was one of the only ones a without a dead body already inside of it. Instead, there was another man. There was a dark-colored gag in his mouth, and his grey eyes blazed with hatred as he stared from under his long, grey fringe at the men pulling us along. His gaze softened and his eyes got wider when he saw me, glancing at Heize before resting on me again. 

The pirates unlocked the cell before pushing us into it, slamming it shut and sauntering away. Heize sat herself in a corner and cried, staring at the iron bars of the cage opposite her. I sat closer to her than the other man, arms and legs crossed as I scrutinized the cell. 

The metal was weak, but not weak enough that anyone could break it. Maybe in another few decades it'd get to that point, but the rust was mostly spread along the bars by the thick boards bordering the ocean. Not enough space for anyone to slip through even if you could manage to bust through them. 

I was too intimidated by the man's heavy gaze to look at him for longer than a second, and every time I did chance a look in his direction, he was staring at me. I busied myself with wondering why he was gagged when we weren't, and then wondering why there was another Korean on the European pirate ship. It took a few hours for the memory of a legend to trickle into the forefront of my thoughts, a story about creatures of the sea that lured men to their death with their voices. Sirens. 

I eventually gave up, feeling sleep beginning to weigh more heavily upon my tired eyes. I cried silent tears as I leaned back and faded into the darkness, weeping for my crew as I hadn't yet. 

The haunting melody echoed through my ears as the ship swayed back and forth. It wasn't a voice I'd ever heard, but I knew it had to belong to the siren that shared the cell with Heize and I. There was no other voice that could compare to his, not even Heize's. 

The siren sounded painfully sad, its voice so full of emotion that it was constantly on the verge of breaking. His slightly gravelly voice held higher notes so well, it was as if he was born to let them out. The passion he sang with made me shiver, shook me to my very core. I woke up and laid there for a moment, breathing heavily and sweating in the humid air. When I looked over to the grey-haired siren at the other end of the cell, he was sitting up too, staring at me, urgency in his eyes. 

I wanted desperately to take the dirty gag out of his mouth, but I felt this was something Heize should be awake for. She'd only ever been a passenger on the ship, a temporary face I'd soon forget, but this would affect her as well. It only made sense that she be awake. 

And yet, when I went to shake her shoulder, the siren grunted, and I really felt she should stay asleep. So I pulled my hand back and slowly stood up, stumbling because of the rocking of the ship. I walked uneasily to stand in front of him, staring down for a moment before tentatively reaching out and grabbing the edge of the gag. I pulled down on it, and it easily slid from around his mouth. He spit out the rag that'd been in his mouth as I untied his wrists. 

"What is your name," was the first thing he asked. His voice, like in my dream, was deep and a little gravelly. There was no flaw in his voice. Not a word he said seemed to be out of place 

"Choi San. Why are you here," I responded softly. He scoffed. 

"They caught me off guard. Anymore than that is not important. Will you help me escape," he asked I nodded immediately. 

"Of course. What do I need to do," I asked he smiled, an odd, boxy smile that showed off gums and perfect teeth. It must have been something left over from his human life. 

"Nothing. Just stand there and look pretty, and I'll do the rest. There's a reason I was gagged, after all," he said, confidence coloring his voice as he walked towards the door. 

Afterwards, I couldn't have repeated a single word he sang. Nonetheless, it was haunting and beautiful, and magnetic as well. It pulled a young pirate down the stairs. He stopped in front of the metal bars, looked dazed. The siren said something to him, quietly so that no one else could hear. The young boy nodded and pulled a gun from his belt, firing it at the lock on the door. He kept it drawn as he walked away from the swinging door, loose on its hinges without the lock keeping it shut. 

"You set the siren free," Heize asked loudly, her voice bordering manic. I didn't realize the gunshot had woken her, hadn't even remembered she was there. I nodded guiltily. 

"I was going to wake you up, but then it didn't seem important. I-I thought it better to let you sleep," I explained pathetically. She scoffed and pushed past me and the siren. The siren shook his head and followed, with me trailing along like a lost puppy. 

"Hey, uhm, you never- what's your name," I asked nervously. The siren turned around, still walking, and considered for a moment before giving another dazzling smile. 

"Kim Taehyung. Most people call me V though, because they tend to believe I sing for Victory. I am unsure what they think that means, but it makes no sense to me. Do you understand it," he asked. I shook my head. 

"Not really, no. It sounds kinda silly. I mean, how are you even supposed to sing for vic-"

I cut off abruptly, my words changing into an exclamation of surprise and then pain as the ship rocked with a violent explosion. I tried to stay in place, but it was so unexpected that I ended up being slammed into the bars of one of the cells, the world going dark for a moment before fading back in. I blinked and winced at the pain in the right side of my face. 

"San, oh my god. Are you okay?!"

It took a moment to realize it was Heize leaning over me, gaze frantically switching back and forth over my face. I stared at her in puzzlement as she gingerly touched my cheekbone. I hissed, and her fingers came away bloody. She stared at the for a second before whirling around to face the siren, outrage flushing her face bright red. 

"This your fault! You made that little creep do something! You knew this would happen and you didn't warn us, and now San's jaw is probably dislocated, not to mention all the blood and possible fractures! What in hell is wrong with you," she demanded, voice bordering on shrill. The siren was laughing, loud, clear, and bright. 

"I am a siren. We do what we please and say fuck you to anyone that gets in the way! It's not my fault pirates carry so much gunpowder on their ships," he exclaimed, voice still perfect even though the words he said were horrible. 

"You blew a hole in their ship?! Why in the world would you do that, we're all going to die," Heize fretted. I struggled to sit up, head warm and fuzzy. The world was spinning, tipping, everything sliding to the left. As I pulled myself up, I realized that no, I wasn't just imagining it. The world was really sliding farther and farther to the left.

My bare feet slid across splintered boards as I lost my balance again. I winced at the feeling of sharp wood tearing into my feet as I rested on the bars of the cells to my left. The door banged open and pirates poured in, all aiming at the siren in front of us. I winced at the percussive sounds of bullets leaving guns. 

Not one bullet hit the siren. The pirates couldn't aim that well from far away. No, they hit Heize and I instead of the siren, despite being half behind his large frame. The siren let it go on for an obscene length of time before shouting a command with that terrible, ruinous voice of his. 

The ship was creaking around us. Blood leaked slowly from wounds shallow and deep as I held Heize as tightly as I could. I wasn't going to let her die alone, not after all she'd been through. She didn't deserve any of this, and I was regretting freeing the siren. I should've paid more attention to the endings of all the siren stories. 

I was so scared of death, always had been and would be. Now that it was creeping closer with every second, spilling inky darkness into the edges of my vision and crawling up my spine with tingling fingers, I was absolutely terrified. Heize was crying and whimpering, and it was breaking my heart. 

"You know, neither of you have to die today, not really. No siren is obligated to bury a human so they may rise again, but when another siren is found dead… well, we feel a certain need to put them to rest properly. And the two of you… well, there can be no doubt about what wonderful sirens you would make," he murmured, coming closer with every word until he was right in front of us. My breath was harder in coming every time I exhaled, seeming to be that much harder to draw more in again. I wasn't coherent enough to answer, but Heize was. She grabbed his sleeve and nodded fiercely, terror and determination swimming through her storm-blue eyes. 

Afterwards, I could have recounted every word he sang, yet I never would. He sang of strength and beauty, healing and destruction, melodies and lullabies and every other thing he knew of. Things we would possess once his song was finished. 

It seemed to last for hours, until I suddenly became aware that the ship had gone under and was going to burst soon. His song ended two verses later, and he stood up, turned away and walked through the open door. I knew exactly when he returned to the water, because at that moment, the pressure became too much. The ship collapsed inwards, spitting jagged shards of wood towards us, metal bars digging deep between our ribs and shearing through spines.


	18. Sweet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A kumiho is never truly any of the faces they use, but how useful is that distinction when most of the faces they use are dead and gone anyways?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a gory work and involves descriptions of dead bodies and consuming human flesh, as well as mentions of blood and an analogy to root vegetables. This may not be for you to read if you are not able to handle things like these well.

Many things in the world were considered sweet. Love. Candies. Cookies and cakes. Little gestures made by loved ones. The taste of revenge. Reunion with old friends. The taste of blood and human flesh. 

Those last couple are unconventional and widely debated. Not everyone particularly likes the coppery tang of blood, preferring to consume the sugary sweetness of fear or the exotic delicacy of the soul. And there are those who claim human flesh is too tough and gamey. In my opinion, they wait too long to start eating, or they eat the wrong things from inexperience. Humans are just like any other animal; certain parts are better to eat than others. 

Once, long ago, I'd killed and eaten a young man named Park Seonghwa. He'd been rather easy to seduce, and I'd found that princes tasted no better or worse than peasants did. Before him, I'd always take the visages of women to lure in prey. But, being bored one day after I'd killed him, I took his form and found I rather liked it. Beautiful women were easy to come by, but beautiful men were more rare. Maidens were just as easy to sway as young men. 

It was as Park Seonghwa that I first met Jeong Yunho. He was tall, smiled easily, and was hard to be serious around. The second you saw his smile, you were tempted to smile as well. Yunho made it easy to laugh and be happy, even easier to forget what I did everyday after he'd gone back to his own home. My killing became mindless after I met him, no real thought or effort put into it. It was easy as it was, so the lack of effort didn't change anything. The lack of thought did, though. 

I became careless and killed someone within the city, in the center of the square where everyone could see. I heard a scream while I was feasting and froze, immediately realizing my mistake. I began to hear the barking of fox hounds, and I shifted back to my true form and ran as fast as I could. The only thing I lamented was that I would no longer see Yunho's sweet smile. 

Only, I did. I ran and wandered until I was so far from the last town that the story of me could not have possibly been heard. And yet, when I woke up in my new den, I smelled a familiar scent outside. I stared suspiciously at the entrance before hesitantly crawling forward, making as little noise as possible. I tried to discern where I knew it from, but it was buried under the thick, heavy musk of blood. 

"Come on, Seonghwa! I know you haven't forgotten me yet!"

I knew that voice, but what could Yunho possibly be doing here? I climbed out of the fresh den and stared at what Yunho had brought, feeling oddly vulnerable in my true form in front of him. 

It was the fresh corpse of a young woman. He had candles set up all around her except for in two spots, one where he was sitting and one opposite him. His usually pristine skin was spattered with the woman's blood, thick and red. His smile was seated easily and heavily on his lips, his eyes crinkling up with the force of it. He looked so excited that when I shifted into Park Seonghwa I had to smile as well. It would never do to let Jeong Yunho down. 

I sat down in the second spot, crossing my legs and staring into the deep red cage of the woman's opened ribs. "You hide it very well, you know. I didn't expect or suspect it at all. Maybe that's just me being careless, though." I carefully reached over and pulled one of her lower ribs out, breaking it in half and sucking down the marrow. It was nice that we could make their bones liquid if we wanted. Marrow was far too effortful to get after otherwise. Yunho replaced his smile with a smaller one, more shy and timid than usual. 

"I wasn't sure about you at first, and then when I was I didn't want to risk ruining what we had. Not all of us are so welcoming of companionship," he said softly. He pulled off one of her fingers and bit through, chewing and swallowing. I'd once tried some of the human food in the Royal Kitchens as Seonghwa, back when he was a prince before a murderer, and I'd found that eating a carrot was eerily similar to eating human fingers. 

"Well, to most I would say no. To you though… well, you did prepare a wonderful meal. It's a shame though," I said, pausing to dig around for one of her lungs. "She was a pretty one." It tasted sweeter than they usually did, and I smiled at the fact. I sent Yunho an impressed smile and widened the cerulean eyes that weren't truly mine. "Oh, Yunho, you didn't! Killing a shaman just for me? What a delight!" He blushed and scratched his neck, his smile bigger. I was always glad when he got comfortable enough around me to express as much as even this little bit. Most of his smiles were fake for the longest time. 

"It was nothing, really. I'd heard they tasted better to some, and I've always wanted to try but never been motivated enough to just kill one of them. She did put up quite the fight though," he giggled, pointing to the harsh, red scratches on his forearms. "She didn't quite believe me when I said I wanted her to cleanse my home of evil spirits." I laughed with him, and it went on like that for the rest of the night. 

Ever after that, we were together. Seonghwa and Yunho against the world, though neither of us was truly either of them. Most would say the distinction didn't matter enough to be mentioned, and Yunho and I were part of that majority. 

It wasn't easy being a kumiho, especially when so many people in Korea had it out for you. As time passed human got more advanced, protected themselves more efficiently and created cameras and locks more complicated than simple keys and keyholes. We weren't able to eat as often, though when we were able to we did as we had since the first, over a delicious corpse just perfect for eating, candles lighting the darkness just enough to be able to see each other and our meal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will post yesterday's work later today and will work on today's post after that. Also, someone has asked to translate the works in this into Russian! I think they'll wait until I finish this and edit everything, but I'll post the link and their Twitter (if they want me to) when they start translating it! Find me on Twitter, @catfacekathryn ^-^


	19. Midnight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Midnight was everything noon could not possibly be.

Midnight was pitch black, or it was a navy so dark it was nearly black. It was sprinkled with pinpricks of light, steady in one color or blinking through many. Midnight was the height of the moon's reign, when she was at her zenith in the sky. Be it a full, bright disc or a thin, barely there sliver, midnight was the dominion of the moon and all that embraced her. 

Midnight was the time of cool breezes or freezing gales, hidden crimes and secret loves. All the most powerful, secretive work was done in the midnight hour, drawing power from the pull of the moon on oceans and from the spirit of the lunar disc. Opposite noon, midnight was cool embraces and gentle caresses healing cold to burning hot. It was everything calmer and quieter about the world, and everything more violent as well. 

Midnight was the halfway point of the night, signaling the hours left before sanctuary was again dispelled and glamours would go back up. After midnight was gone, monsters would retreat and they would force themselves as humans upon society again. Midnight was a warning of time almost wasted, time that must be used wisely or waited upon throughout the whole day. 

Midnight was frantic movements and hurried words, aching to finish before the sun returned and pressed upon the dark creatures with its oppressive heat and anger. The sun was harsh and cruel, twisting those it gazed upon. The sun was unforgiving and merciless, burning any that dared defy it. We're the moon was soft edges and kind tendrils of light that wish benevolence upon its children, the sun was sharp points and thorny, whip-like vines of radiation that wanted nothing more than to hurt. 

Midnight was the time of werewolves and vampires, ghosts and demons, amaroks and nightowls and the fae and every other misunderstood, misrepresented creature that walked the planet. Midnight would stay the pleasure of these beings for the rest of time, because no human alive would ever admit that they were wrong in their view of the world. How could such cognizant, evolved creatures such as them be wrong, after all?

But of course that was the problem with humanity. They never admitted they were wrong until they were forced to join the ranks of midnight, and even then, the admission was hard in coming. Until humanity got past their arrogance, midnight would remain the treasure and joy of all those who could not stand the horrid anger of the sun and the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My friend is doing this as well, with inktober prompts! Her writing is really good, she's so good at describing things!! Go find her stuff on the profile ihopeitsfriday


	20. Signature

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "What sets us apart from each other us how we treat ourselves and what we choose to do with our afterlives."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Catch me back on my Masquerade nonsense.

He hadn't lied. I did wake up in a big, soft bed. I was dressed in very nice clothes, a pair of light gold slacks and a silky gold shirt. When I sat up and saw my reflection in the mirror hanging on the opposite wall, I noticed a black choker with gold embroidery around my neck, covering the area where the Death Prince had dragged a knife through my flesh. 

I got out of the bed and walked towards the mirror, pulling down the choker once I was standing in front of it. There it was, a thin red line in my neck, from one side to the other. I gingerly pressed on it, flinching when my finger passed through the line into my neck. I felt my breath coming and going through my throat, running over my finger as my breathing sped up. The door opened, and I stepped away from the mirror, hurrying to pull my finger out of my neck. 

"It's odd, isn't it? To be able to feel what killed you without having it harm you anymore," Joshua asked softly, gazing at me with sympathetic eyes. He had a hand resting on the door frame, slightly lower than his chin, the other hand in the door knob. I swallowed and nodded. 

"Just a little. I didn't know they were still there after you died," I murmured, loud enough that Joshua would hear. Gold still sparkled faintly on his cheeks. 

"It's not widely known by the living. Most of us hide our death wounds, like with the choker. I'd hoped to show you myself, explain what's happened and what will happen in case you were confused and had questions," he told me, walking towards a gold, velvet armchair in a corner. I stood awkwardly at the end of the bed as he passed, scratching my arms. 

"What happened," I said curiously, wondering what could be confusing about that. He nodded. 

"You probably remember being killed at the Masquerade, but I doubt you know why you were killed. Obviously, because you were found alive at the ball, but honestly, most of the Princes don't care whether the living join us as long as they aren't obvious about it. You cried though, and, well, the living don't cry like us. It was too obvious to ignore, so we had to kill you," Joshua said quietly, sounding mournful. 

"You don't like it when they find us," I said, more statement than question. He shook his head. 

"I hate it when they find the living. We don't quite know why we must kill you. We only know that we must do it or risk everything crumbling apart. Not many of the undead populace are aware, but this isn't a permanent state. We fade eventually, and die again, and if we were to leave someone alive after being found among us, we would all perish, and no one would ever walk after death again," Joshua said. It was odd, but it made sense. 

"So, then, what is going to happen," I asked. He smiled and looked at me. 

"An easier question. Firstly, you can't stay here unless you're a Prince or in the service of a Prince. So, unless you'd like to go live among the others, I've got a contract for you to sign. You can read over it while I explain," said the gold-dusted prince, handing me a sheet of paper. "It's double sided, and if you agree, it'll need your signature at the bottom. You'd legally be in my employ as a servant, but you can think of it as more of an assistant. I won't give you much to do, and nothing very hard. Just getting the mail, answering the phone when I'm unavailable, writing letters and answers to things. Very low effort with very high pay."

"It says I'll be bound to you. What does that mean," I asked, concerned it might be a bad thing. 

"Mostly that I'm responsible for your actions and you're responsible for mine. We'll be able to track each other after a fashion, and I'm responsible for protecting you and keeping you out of danger," he explained. I glanced over it, and found nothing else of concern, so I signed "Ong Namkyu" next to the little x with the pen he gave me. 

He took the contract and pen back, throwing them into the air, where they burst into flame and dissipated into nothingness from the resulting smoke. The golden sparkle on his cheeks caught my eye again as he moved. 

"Why is everything gold? How come it's on your face," I asked. I expected him to smile or get embarrassed, but he seemed to sober because of the question. 

"It's a bit of a story, but I'll shorten it as best I can. I came from a very wealthy family: it's part of the reason I'm even a Death Prince in the first place. They gave me what they had to, my wealth and status. Something must have happened to them after I died, because I've never seen them. They either died poor or were never buried. My funery gift was this massive pile of gold, just heaped around my body. Honestly, there was more gold there than anyone would ever need in their entire life, and I can't help but wonder if they transferred all of our wealth into gold so they wouldn't be reborn near me when they died," he said. I had assumed at some point that he'd be sad, but he didn't seem to care. At least, not by now. I asked my question only because of that. 

"Why wouldn't they want to see you again," I asked. He sighed. 

"I died in the days when a man liking a man was less than acceptable, and when everyone found out... well, it's safe to say they abominated me by the time I died," the Prince drawled, the gold sparkling on his cheeks. I wondered if it was real or fake. "I am a Death Prince because my family gave me what I was mine by right. I am the Gold-Dust Prince because I gave myself what I was owed. Respect, love, dignity. The gold on my cheeks is real gold. I don't use real gold so much anymore, because the living have begun making gold highlight and sparkles very well. I only use real gold for special occasions."

"Is it real today," I asked, very curious about the answer. He nodded, and I smiled. 

"You probably don't understand why I gave you my favor," he said, glancing at the heavy gold rose in my ear, "but it is partially because I saw myself in you. Neither of us really had friends or family. You just wanted a bit of fun, I assume, and I wanted to be myself. I never had anyone. No friends who sought me out when they died, no family that wanted to reconnect. No, they gave me my wealth and my status, out of courtesy and lingering attachment, but that was severed immediately after my funeral. My only family was waiting for me in the Death Princes in this castle. I'm glad I'm here now, because I got to meet you. I got to save you."

"The gold dust on my face is my signature, showing the world that it can't beat me down. Everyone knows that the Prince in gold is Joshua Hong, one of the oldest Princes alive."


	21. Healing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yeosang was not a typical firebender. He was too quiet, and too good at healing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note that these may not be completely accurate portrayals of Wooyoung and Yeosang, particularly Yeosang. I do not believe this is actually how he behaves. There are also mentions of bullying in this work.

In this world, there are people that can manipulate the four cardinal elements. Benders are those rare few that have dominion over water, air, earth, or fire. In older days, they were persecuted as witches and heretics, locked in cells as madmen. 

It was when benders showed how beneficial they could be, through healing and construction and defense, that they began to be embraced. Not by everyone, though, just enough to make it seem as if they were accepted when taken at face value. 

Those who had power over fire were, in general, more volatile, the fire simmering beneath their skin ready to burst out and raze aggressors to the ground. That wasn't the case for Kang Yeosang. He'd been put down since before anyone knew he controlled fire, and every experience pulled him farther and farther into a shell. By the time he realized he could bend fire to his will, he was so scared of confrontation that even when he could have caused significant harm, he was unable to. Fear was etched deep in him, was a part of his being. 

Wooyoung was the opposite. He was loud and boisterous, always full of joy and excitement, trying to break past the confining bounds of the earth trying to keep him calm. He was as open as anyone could be, and he had friends without count. Few had to wish to be closer to him, because he made an effort to speak with everyone.

Everyone but the boy who sat out of sight, hiding away in shadows, curled up on himself and always taking up as little space as possible. Yeosang who would flinch at the slightest contact, Kang Yeosang who would never talk to anyone of his own volition, had never had the good luck to pop up on Jung Wooyoung's radar. 

Until one day in class, when they were learning about how to bend their elements to healing, Yeosang was called up front as the only firebender. Everyone snickered beneath their breath except for Wooyoung, who just stared, enraptured by this frail boy he'd never once seen. No one expected for Yeosang to be able to do what the teacher asked him to, because everyone knew healing was one of the things fire had never been good at. This was expected to be the one subject the school's straight-A student was abysmal at. 

It came as a surprise to everyone but Yeosang when he used his soft flames to knit the long, shallow wound the teacher had opened on his arm, even more so when the times at the end of the activity were shown and his was right at the top. 

When Wooyoung went searching for the captivating firebender from his class, he found the boy among a crowd of other students. Wooyoung pushed through and shoved other students away, his heart aching as he saw the glow of fire burning under his skin, healing injuries as they were inflicted.

Wooyoung helped the boy up and told him to stop, because he'd take care of him and he should just rest. Yeosang protested, told the boy with silver hair to leave him be because this was something he could do on his own and he didn't need any help. Wooyoung ignored him and gently sat him under a tree, taking the boy's abused arm away from his shoulders. 

Wooyoung gently lifted his hands to the boys chest, again insisting that Yeosang stop healing himself. When the firebender insisted that he didn't need any help, Wooyoung frowned. 

"From what I see, you've been doing this your whole life, Yeosang. Firebenders are known to be terrible when it comes to healing, but you had the shortest time in class today. Let someone else help you for once."

So Yeosang stayed quiet, knowing that the earthbender wouldn't leave it be until he did. He let the gentle warmth of the earth slide under his skin, connecting and pulling him closer to the ground beneath him. It was different than fire, not quite so hot and vicious. Even his flames, more subdued than any firebenders, were still hot enough to burn badly. Wooyoung's earthbending moved softly, covering him in an oppressive, comfortable warmth. It didn't burn his injuries as they healed: they felt gritty and muddy and cool, pleasant in a strange way. 

Healing didn't come naturally to fire. It was easiest with water and earth, two forces that wished to help people. Fire and air were more fickle, more unwilling to do good. Kang Yeosang, despite being a firebender, was unlike any other. He was quiet, scared, painfully introverted. A natural healer. Wooyoung was more boisterous than most earthbenders, but he was just as welcoming.


	22. Trust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yeonjun didn't know where he was going. All he knew was that he'd started this journey the night before, and he was going to finish it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No warnings, but find me on Twitter, @catfacekathryn and also go read my friends stuff, she's under ihopeitsfriday here and on Twitter. She wrote something for the inktober prompt Enchanted based in this same universe (her take on it is beautiful and I love it so much!)

It was dark. I was drowning in the thick air, unable to draw in dry air; it was horribly humid and barely warm enough to be called lukewarm. I could see only well enough that I was certain I wouldn't run into something. Tall pillars of something rose and faded away in my peripherals, thick and rough enough to scrape. I didn't know for sure what they were, but I knew they were natural: no human could imitate nature so well. 

My bare feet dragged with exhaustion, scraping against the rough ground. They were too calloused to be hurt, and the rock beneath me tickled more than anything. I couldn't remember how long I'd been walking, but it'd been a good long while. It was as if I'd been walking forever. Inevitably, I stumbled over a pile of rocks I hadn't seen and flailed my arms out. I caught myself on one of the thick pillars, scraping my palms. The faint smell of metal filled the air around me. 

I whined as I righted myself. It was so hard to heal when your blood wasn't really blood. I pushed off the rock and kept going forward, intent on making it to wherever I'd been headed when I woke up this morning. 

The passage of time was indefinite in the low light, and all of a sudden, I noticed that at some point things had become more visible. It was all red though, and I wondered what kind of place this was to be filled with so much red rock. I looked around as I went forward, and glanced at the rocks beneath me. Something was off, and I halted. It took far too long to realize that my skin was the same deep red as everything else around me, and even longer to process that it meant something was emitting red light. 

When I looked up again, there was a strange formation in the middle of a scarlet lake. The closer I got, the clearer the lines leading away from the oddly square platform in the middle of the red lake became. They were ropes and chains, of all sizes and materials. Locks hung from rings far above on the rock walls. Every single length of the binding objects were connected to something kneeling in the middle of the perfectly cube shaped mass of rock. 

I could only get so close to the odd platform. Over half of it was submerged in water, and the figure in the midst of the bonds was heavily obscured by the mass of rope and chain around it. There had to be thousands of them, literally. I couldn't help but wonder what had happened for this being to be tied up in such an extreme manner. 

Chains clinked as the shadowy figure moved. Some of the ropes pulled tight while the chains slackened, and an arm reached up to yank harshly on one of the chains. There was a vicious rattling of metal links as the chain collided with others, and a groan of frustration resounded through the empty space. 

I stopped at the edge of the water, suppressing a laugh at the coolness of water lapping at my toes. The figure had still been yanking on various bindings, but it stilled when a poorly concealed laugh rang through the open air. 

"Who's there," called a gravelly voice. It sounded as if it had gone unused for years, or it had been used often and vigorously. 

"I… Yoongi said not to talk with strangers," I answered quietly. 

"Then you shouldn't have come here. You're only going to waste my time if you aren't going to talk," he said, sounding angry. I frowned. 

"I didn't want to come here. I just showed up in this place and walked. I don't know how to get out, and it's really cold in here," I muttered. "But sure, I'll go. Leave you to your yanking, seems like a lot of fun."

"Hey, wait! I didn't say you could leave yet," the chained man yelled at me as I started to turn. I wrapped my arms around myself, trying to conserve warmth. It was getting colder, and I stepped out of the water completely. It seemed to follow me. I looked back at him over my shoulder. 

He was shadowy and indistinct, and the crimson light shifting above him made even harder to look at. He was reaching out towards me, grabbing onto the chains so he could lean out farther. I wasn't sure but it seemed like his feet were chained up too. 

"I'm not sure who told you you could dictate my actions, but I'll leave when I please," I bit back, huddling in on myself and beginning to walk away. I heard a laugh, and a rumbling started up on the edge of my hearing. 

"Oh trust me, you aren't leaving until I say you can. This isn't your dream anymore, Yeonjun," he said. I cut off my own reply with a yelp of surprise when the entrance to the lake collapsed on itself. "You're only cursed with transmutation, Yeonjun. You and your friends are much better off than some of us. You have free reign of the world. You are not chained up in a cavern deep under the earth, in a country that wasn't even yours to begin with. You're cold and miserable in here, but you can remedy that by shifting and rumbling a little fire in your chest. Every one of these things is opened a different way. A thousand locks for a thousand transgressions."

The temperature dropped drastically, and I shivered violently. I felt stiff, definitely too stiff to shift. I'd only hurt myself if I tried. 

"I shouldn't stay here. I don't know that I can trust you. I can't see you clearly, I don't even know what you are," I said, trying hard to keep my teeth from chattering. He huffed, a long, low breath that put steam in the air. When it blew into my face, hot and crimson-tinted by the light, it was warm and smoky, as if from a fire. By the time the smoke cleared from my face, the man among the chains had grown larger, taken on a different shape. 

He wasn't even a typical dracon. He had the general shape of a typical dragon, the general image everyone thought when they heard the word, but he was different than that. His neck was more slender, his entire body more lean than overly bulky. He was clearly still very powerful though, obvious in the straining of the various cords against his body. His wings were larger than would be normal, he was larger than a dragon usually got. He took up nearly the entire cavern, his legs resting in the lake. His eyes blazed gold. I could not tell what color his scales were. 

And then he was human again, his wings and tail gone, no sign of the great horns that had crowned his head. I didn't need to see him clearly to know that they'd been cut off of his human form. 

"You don't know that you can trust me, because I don't know that you can. This happened to me for a reason. I'm not a typical monster, Yeonjun. It would be best to leave me down here."


	23. Spark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sparks have a will of their own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote it a fun way :D

All it took was a spark.  
All it ever took was a single spark.  
So insignificant on its own,  
So oddly capable of setting things ablaze. 

A spark wasn't always bright,  
And it didn't always spark a fire that burned.  
Sometimes a spark was an action,  
A word,  
A gesture,  
And sometimes a spark lit anger,  
Hatred,  
Contempt. 

Sparks didn't have to be large,  
Nor did they have to be wanted.  
They were unpredictable,  
Uncontrollable,  
Inconvenient at the worst of times. 

A spark didn't have to be big  
And a spark didn't have to be bright,  
Because a spark could accomplish destruction  
With the greatest of ease.


	24. Vessel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuchan didn't realize what he was getting himself into when he signed his name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note that while most of my depictions of demons have been relatively positive thus far, this is not like the previous works involving demons. This involves mentions of blood and murder and kind of a form of self harm?

I am empty. I cannot fill myself. My cracks are ever-open, ever-weeping. Cries echo within my head, and screams are what come from my mouth. I have no control over myself, and I never will. Not anymore. 

Since I signed myself over, I no longer have myself. I have nothing. No soul -they ate it- to keep clean, no heart -it's not mine anymore- to keep beating, no consciousness -I can't control what I think- to make decisions with. My limbs do not move when I wish them to, and they move when I wish they wouldn't. 

It isn't my fault that so many are dead, and yet it is at the same time. It was not truly me when the knife slid through layers of muscle and cut through arteries full of hot, rich crimson blood, but it was my face that committed the crimes, and that is all that will ever matter. 

I cannot explain to my family that I'm really not the person that's been on the news every night. I can't tell my friends that the signature in blood is never mine, because it looks like my signature in ink. Everything looks like me and sounds like me, but none of it is really me. 

I get all the blame when it's not ever my crime. I get shoved into confining jackets and pushed into padded cells even when I don't want to do what I'm forced to. I have to take the pills, I have to endure needles and exams. I am the one that has shredded nails after clawing my way out of a straitjacket, I am the one with ruined fingers when the guards come to check on me. It is my hands that run with blood when I escape, and I am the one pulled back screaming and crying when I'm caught again. 

Because the demons are sloppy, and they don't really care; they'll just break me out again, make me do more. My masters are merciless, and they don't care for my opinions. They only care to see how many I can kill in a night, how many I can end in a week, how many I can snuff out in a month. They are only interested in the game of cat and mouse they use my body to play. 

I thought, at first, that becoming a vessel for Satan and his crew wouldn't be so bad. Now, I regret ever signing Kang Yuchan in a sticky red ink I only later realized was blood.


	25. Accident

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taehyung never really meant to hurt Jimin. It just happened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note that there are mentions of blood and a mention of very life threatening wounds in this work.

It was an accident. I never even meant to touch him. I never meant to look in his direction at all, I didn't want anything to do with him. One thing led to another and suddenly there was a man bleeding out on the floor of some back room in the club, and I had to stop myself from screaming. As it was, I was barely able to keep it together while I called Yoongi. 

"Taehyung? What's up, did something happen," the older witch asked. I bit my lip, struggling to keep the tremble out of my voice. 

"Yoongi, I- I hurt someone really bad… I'm not sure what to do. I-I know you all told me to stay away from clubs, but I thought I could handle it," I said quietly. Tears slipped down my cheeks. I bit my lip and leaned back against the wall, my knees weak. "I messed up." 

Silence, and then, "I'll be right there Tae, stay calm. I'm heading over now, just cover your nose and don't look at him. It'll be easier that way, okay?" I didn't question how the witch knew where I was. I just nodded and murmured a quiet, "okay," and did what he said. There was a crackle on his end and then he was suddenly right in front of me. 

He put a quelling hand on my cheek and wiped away my tears before turning to the man lying on the ground. His breath caught in his throat as he took in the sight. I'd really don't a number on him, an image I fought to look away from. 

I knew he'd be trying to assess the damage, deciding whether or not he'd be able to do anything. I wasn't as optimistic as Yoongi. I called him because I knew the man -no, he was closer to a boy now that I paid attention- was going to die. I needed the older man here so he could tell me what to do. Yoongi heaved a long sigh. 

"Taehyung, you either have to let him die or turn him," Yoongi said quietly. I knew this wasn't a conversation any passersby needed to hear. He was silent for a moment before turning to look at me over his shoulder. "But you already knew that."

"What do I do, Yoongi. Tell me what you need me to do. I know that you a-and Namjoon and Jin would tell me I sh-should make my own decision, but I'm scared. I don't wanna make the wrong one. What do I do," I said, pleading with the older man to help. His hair, bleached blond, looked darker under the dim lights, more grey somehow. His face was shadowed oddly, and his lips were frowning as he considered. 

"Come here, Tae. Sit on the other side," he beckoned, reaching a hand out. I took it shakily and sat down, becoming more jumpy and wound up the closer I got to him. His blood was so much more pungent down here. It was almost spicy, hot and heavy in my nose and on my tongue. "You need to ask him. He can still answer."

I knew what Yoongi meant. Vampires mostly, usually, almost always asked people they nearly killed if they wanted to be turned. He wanted me to do that. He wanted me to have the man's opinion, and then he wanted me to make my own decision with that opinion. A vampire was always free to refuse if they felt they weren't ready for the responsibility. 

"Hey, uh, I'm really sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you, it's just I- I'm new at all of this, and I'm really not very good at controlling a… a lot of things about myself, actually. I should have listened to the others, but then I thought I could handle myself. I don't even know why I thought that now, I-" I covered my nose with the back of my hand. His blood was really starting to get to me. 

"Look, I hurt you real bad and you're dying. I'm a vampire though. I can- I can save you. I don't feel ready, but I've got my hyungs. They'll take care of us. Do you-" I took a deep breath. This, at the least, I needed to be confident in. "I'm sorry I hurt you so badly, but do you want me to turn you?"

The boy that was almost a man put a soft hand on my thigh. I uncovered my nose, wrinkling it at the onslaught of iron and sugar-sweetness, looking down into his eyes. I tried to keep my gaze away from the gashes in his throat, tried not to stare at the bubbly blood welling up from the wounds and from his mouth. 

"Anything… anyway, just don't… let me die… I don' wanna… wanna live, can't die… help, please," he whispered, the words bubbling up from his mouth. His voice buzzed up through the rips in his throat that aligned with my too-sharp nails. I bit my lip and nodded, running a hand through the blood-streaked mass of silver hair he sported. 

"What's your name," I murmured, taking his hand in mine. I squeezed it lightly, and a tear fell from my eyes when he squeezed back, just barely holding on. "Park… Jimin…"

"I'll help you, Jimin. Just rest. You won't be in quite so much pain when you wake up," I whispered. He closed his eyes and I pressed a kiss to his forehead, smearing a little bit of blood. 

He squeezed my hand harder when I pressed my lips against the jagged tears in his throat.


	26. Command

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hongjoong doesn't make his living travelling from planet to planet. He lives his life planet to planet, sneaking onto one for a while before moving to the next.

"Your wish is my command." Deep, searing hot, crackling like flames, tongue curling around words, easy as anything could be. 

It started at a party. A man and his crew were distracted, the six of them reveling in sweltering warmth from alcohol and delicious blurs. They'd have never seen me sneak onto their ship, especially not when they'd had such an easy locking system. Their reputation was enough to steer most men clear of their possessions.

"I am yours. Ever your servant. Do not make the mistake other men have. Do not mistake me for a toy to be misused." Searing, quiet red, smoking wisps climbing, gaze hot and heavy, burning into my soul meaningfully. 

I hid out in one of the unused rooms. They made it easy to decipher which were lived with so many personal effects. I dozed off in the bed the first one I'd had in my life. When I woke, they'd stopped on a ship. They were all gone, and looking out the front window showed a sandy desert outside thick, beige walls. 

"What are you?" Tentative, slightly scared, edged with caution, a higher middle tone, curious and ready to flee. 

I walked out of the ship, scampering off quickly. The men would be trading for the next few hours at least. It was an old planet with stubborn inhabitants. Possibly even the first Earth, though there would've been no way to prove it; everyone claimed that theirs was the first Earth. 

"I am the last of the djinn on this planet. I was born long ago, of the fire of a scorching wind. We are an ancient race, long and largely forgotten, many faded away trapped in their bottles. The others have returned to the winds or been spirited away by humans much like yourself. Who are you, young boy?" Scarlet, wind blown, long and shaggy, resisting his burning eyes, curling slightly at the ends, shimmering as excess heat is lost. 

I walk between ramshackle buildings and stalls, nimble hands darting out and snatching small baubles and morsels. Things no one would miss until the sun had long set. I wore baggy clothes with pockets galore, to keep my many treasures in. Disorganized chaos, many called it. I knew where everything was. I never called attention to myself. 

"Hongjoong. I'm nothing much, really. Just a kid trying to scrape by. I should probably be going now, I think my aunt is calling me." Darting, light brown, hiding quick thoughts, always watching and noticing, burnt amber in the sun. 

What I'd have given to be caught like a young man was in a movie I watched once. It looked exciting on the TV screen. The street rat in the movie had a monkey. He lived like I did, off scraps and things I could take from unwatched stalls. The life of a petty thief got easier the longer you did it. 

"You really don't need to bother with me. I don't even know how I'm getting off this planet. I could sneak back onto the ship I came on, but it's harder to do the same thing twice y'know? I wouldn't get some fancy djinn anywhere anytime fast. You'd better find another thief to take you off planet." Brunet, sun lightened, a bit wavy, reminds you of caramel. 

A jewelry stand left tender-less. No one in sight, no one heard. A few quick grabs, and it's down a couple of rings and earrings. A copper bracelet dangles around a thin wrist, barely held on by the small hand it rests above. A few rings sparkle on tanned fingers, thin chains and charms hang from heavily decorated ears. No one ever misses the items. 

"No other petty thief interests me like you do, Hongjoong. A kind but merciless heart. Admirable tenacity and skill, not to mention one that knows the exact value of their own life and how to preserve it. A planet-hopping smuggler of sorts. Some may say a pirate in the makings. A street rat." 

Night falls and I wander out into the desert. The men were delayed until nightfall, and they aren't allowed to leave before the sun rises again. I fiddle with my new toys and pull musty bits of food from my pockets. A wind starts blowing lightly, and I think nothing of it. It gets hotter instead of colder, like deserts do at night, and I begin to sweat. The wind exacerbates it and throws crystalline bits of sand around me, never touching me. 

A silhouette coalesces from the winds and sand, striding towards me purposefully. A man, tall and lanky, falls before me. When he speaks, his voice is deep and hot, crackling like he has flames in his gut, his tongue curling around the words he says exotically, as if they are a new language he has just learned. "Your wish is my command…" I stare for a moment, at the soft red fire that burns in place of his eyes, at his scarlet hair curling and shimmering in the face of his heat. It doesn't burn where it touches the fire in his eye sockets despite being so long and ungroomed it falls in his eyes. 

He explains that his name is Mingi, that he is a djinni. He can grant wishes, as many as he wishes, though most limit it to three in more recent times. He says he is mine, bound to the plain brass ring on the third finger of my right hand. He doesn't believe me when I say there are better people for him to serve, and as a test, I say that when I wake up I'll wish to be caught stealing a hunk of bread. 

True to my word and his magic, I'm caught, and I lead street guards, closer to thugs in reality, down streets and narrow alleys, over rooftops and down the sides of buildings. The men that own the ship I snuck in on saw the chase and followed me with their eyes. When they find me later, they say they could use a street rat like me and I leave what might be old Earth on the ship I snuck in on. 

I promise Mingi that I'll wish him free someday. He says it's kind but impossible unless I really mean it, and it's not something he wants anyways. I tell him that I'm sure he'll change his mind someday. It's only weeks later that the six men meet Mingi, under the guise of an escaped miner from an asteroid orbiting the rocky wasteland of another planet that could be old Earth. They welcome him with the same zeal they welcomed me with, and Mingi and I laugh at the unbelievability of the whole situation. 

We tell them that we'll explain later. It's kept a secret between the two of us for the next decade and a half, at which point I tell the story of my life, including how I snuck onto that maybe-Earth on that ship and left in the very same way, only my presence was known on the trip out. We all laugh and stay in our wicker chairs, gazing at the universe through dirty glass.


	27. Void

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the void, the only thing one can do is think.

No one can tell you exactly what to expect after death, not even someone who's already died. Everyone's experience is different. 

In my experience, for example, you wander through a void. It is devoid of everything. There is nothing to sense, and though you think you are walking, you can't really know. It is like dreaming, thinking what you are doing is real and truly and truly happening. It is not unlike what happens when a dream mistakenly becomes a memory, something that is thought to have been done or experienced with the rest of the living world. 

There is nothing to smell in the void. There is nothing materials, no flowers or animals or even piles of trash. Everything is clean and sterile, but in the sense that it was always that way, so that it never smells of the harsh chemicals often used to clean. There is nothing that could or would generate a scent, nothing to taint the air. 

There is nothing to taste. No food, no tears, no snowflakes or rain. You realize, after being in the void, that even precipitation has its own taste. It's not something I could explain, but it's there. My tongue sits useless in my mouth, for there is no one to talk to either. I am utterly and completely alone. 

There is nothing to feel. Nothing brushing against my leg, no ground beneath my bare feet despite that I walk. I'm not even sure my body exists, for I feel no clothing moving with me, no brush of skin against fabric. I am barely sure I even exist, but a man once said, "I think, therefore I am." I am thinking, so I must be. And yet, that is the only evidence of my presence, which is so insignificant now that no one would ever realize if I suddenly ceased to be. 

There is nothing to hear. No footsteps against the ground, no wind or water. The rustling of leaves and the chatter of life is gone, replaced by a silence so stale and still I dare not break it by speaking into the void. I do not think I would make any noise if I attempted to speak, no matter how hard I tried. The silence of the void is one that fills everything almost oppressively and absorbs everything before it could dare to make the barest squeak. 

There is nothing to see in the void. It is all black, or all white, or all red. All something. Something I cannot define or out into words. It is something that crowds the eyes and forces them into blindness. It is overwhelming and unavoidable, ever-present. I cannot see myself to determine whether I am or am not in existence. 

I spend a lot of time thinking, for it is the only thing left to me. I cannot escape the void, and so I ponder the answerless question of my own being endlessly. No one will ever be able to tell me the truth of the matter -how can anyone tell me a thing when there is nothing to hear or see or feel or smell or taste, when no one can speak to me and I can speak to no one- and I fear I will be left here forever, to rot and be driven insane.


	28. Ethereal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They were the most beautiful creatures Lucen had ever seen, and he was constantly around The Joshua Hong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brief mentions of very short explanations and displays of how Lucen died.

Shua said they sent us because he was well-known and well-trusted, and I was his shadow. Since signing the contract, I'd become his second in everything. I went everywhere with him, and I knew him better than he knew himself most times. 

San and Heize. The Siren Twins. Two recently risen Death Princes -Joshua said whether you were a man or a woman, you were called a Prince- that were too much for the ocean they'd died in. They were born, very obviously, of power. The Palace of the Dead that rested beneath the waves had sirens aplenty, especially sirens that were Death Princes. Joshua said that whoever made them must have given them nearly every power known to sirenkind. 

We were to escort them back to the Palace of the Dead in Korea; there was a shortage of Princes born from power, and new faces were always welcome. Our Palace had originally been built to handle extreme power, and everyone was aching to test the limits of the ancient walls. 

They were terrible and beautiful to gaze upon. Ethereal was the only word that came close. They looked unreal. San, the man of the pair, was blond and had a delicate, angled face, with sharp cat's eyes and a slightly pouty mouth. He was slender, but the strength Shua had warned me of was obvious in the solidity that was present in his stance. Heize, with her equally delicate face, looked eerily like San. Death must have brought them closer; Shua had said that they weren't related before they died. Though she looked the more fragile of the two, she stood slightly in front of San, as if to protect him. 

The unnatural beauty and strength most sirens possessed were easy to spot. Their arms were corded in a way that was obvious to any that looked close enough. Nothing else was obvious at first glance, not until they spoke. 

"You are Prince Hong and Lucen, his shadow," Heize asked. Her voice spun a web of gossamer in the air, her words easily entering my ears. She was only talking and yet it seemed that she was singing the greatest song in history. Melodies layered upon each other in the under- and overtones of her voice. 

There was the infamous voice of a siren, hard to resist even when they were just speaking. I understood how these two were able to put anyone to sleep, how they could lure people in effortlessly and bend their minds to their own will. It was hard to imagine them breaking havoc and destruction with their voices, potentially ruinous things at any given time. 

"Yes, we are. You may call me Joshua," he said kindly, holding out a hand, palm up. Heize took it, and he kissed her knuckles, doing the same to San when he took Joshua's hand. The two sirens turned inquisitive gazes to me, and being under the gaze of the almost-black brown and the storm blue eyes of the sirens unnerved me. Maybe it wasn't so hard to imagine ruin coming from eyes like that. Deep as the ocean and just as cold. 

"Call me Lucen, for now. Pleased to make your acquaintance," I said politely, bowing as Joshua had taught me to.

"You as well, Lucen. I look forward to your Palace. We've heard wonderful things about it," San said. His voice was rougher, but still just as alluring as Heize's. On the week long ride back to the Palace, I tried to spot signs of the other powers they held. Of the hurricanes they could stir up, of their healing capabilities. He'd said they could sense water and impending doom, and they used the first to help us find clean streams to drink from and bathe in. Shua went without gold in public for the first time since I'd woken in the Palace.

I tried to see any hint of their mastery over the elements, of the way they could control the water with great precision for their own self-preservation. I wondered if that would ever fail them. 

They were cold the first couple days, slowly warming as time passed. At one point, they asked about my death wound, and though Joshua looked alarmed, I gently removed the butter gold choker from my neck. I pushed my fingers into the wound like it was nothing. 

"How did you die," one of them asked. I couldn't discern which, and maybe it was both. I fastened the choker back around my neck, more because I liked it than to cover my death wound. 

"I went to a Masquerade when I was alive. They couldn't ignore my presence once I started crying. The living cry differently than the dead. Prince Jung slit my throat after Shua gave me his favor," I explained, somewhat bitterly, as I ran soft fingers over the heavy gold rose in my ear. Joshua wore the matching rose in the opposite ear. 

"Most would ask how we died now," they said. I decided they were speaking simultaneously, though I hadn't really seen their mouths move. I shook my head. 

"Most would. However, I've seen a certain depth in your eyes that I'd rather not understand right now. I know it was terrible, far more terrible than mine," I said to them. They looked at each other and smiled. 

"You chose a good one, Joshua. He's more observant of emotion than most," that was decidedly Heize. San was still looking at me. 

"I'd ask if we could somehow pry him from your hands, but I've a feeling your cold, dead fingers would hold on far too tightly," San said, laughing lightly. Joshua laughed along with them, and I stared out the window as I continued to listen to their conversations. I'd always been one for listening before speaking. 

"You know, you two aren't what I expected. Heartbeats demonize your kind quite well." The three Princes were smiling, two out of feeling flattered, one out of the fact that I'd used the slang term for the living for the first time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please love Lucen/Namkyu, he's one of my favorite OCS. Lucen my baby. Thanks to discountghosts for helping me figure out my sirens and which day to write this for. This fellow author also has a version of Siren!San, find her under @discountghosts here on AO3!!


	29. Leap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was really no more than a blur in the corner of my vision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh this one is kinda weird and like not serious at all. There are definitely inaccuracies about both Alaska and how amaroks function as a whole so like, don't take me for my word in this.

It was cold in Alaska, especially at this time of year. The snow was thick, and it was even colder at night. Mornings were crisp and bitter, trying desperately to steal your breath and your warmth. Being so close to the border between the American state and Canada made for an interesting town. It was kind of a middle ground, a mixture of two separate countries. Perogis were popular, and after tasting some myself, I could see why. They were nice and warm, and like chips, they were easy to eat without paying attention. 

Without realizing it, I found myself outside. It was the middle of the night, and I was only in thin pajamas; I should have been freezing. I figured it must have been too long since I was in the warmth, and I was now numb to the below zero temperatures outside. I was lost as well, so I turned around and kept walking. Home must be the opposite direction was the reasoning behind the bad decision. 

I only got more lost. The wind settled, and all I could hear were my bare feet and pajama-ed legs breaking through the crust of snow. I'd zoned out again at some point, figuring I'd get where I was going when I got there, when I realized there was another something crunching through the snow. 

It sounded big and heavy, and before I could really think about what it might be, there was nothing again. I thought at first that it must be something unreal, a fixture of my cold-addled imagination. And then something slammed into me like a freight train, and my brain helpfully supplied the fact that it must have jumped at me. 

When I groaned and rolled over, looking above me, I realized it was a wolf. The things head was at least as big as my torso, and I was tempted to scream. This massive wolf had leapt at me, could have killed me easily by simply opening its mouth. When it closed its teeth around my pant-leg and started dragging, it clicked. 

I was being kidnapped an amarok. One of the massive wolves of Inuit lore. The situation was much improved now, said my brain, because now we knew what the beast was. And besides, my brain reasoned with the half that was panicking, amaroks help people sometimes. Maybe it knew we were going to die of hypothermia and it was taking us to its den to warm up until morning. 

That is not why it jumped me. It took me to its den, sure, but then it turned human (something I was unaware they were capable of) and told me that he'd been watching me for a long time. He'd chosen me as his mate, apparently, and when I told him that men couldn't exactly carry children, he didn't even bat an eye, just said that he could carry children just fine. Apparently, being male or female was an aesthetic choice and something he could change at will. 

I was not allowed, under any circumstances save impending death, to leave. The first time I tried it, he tied me to a three ton rock for a week. I behaved afterward. Everything was very awkward until suddenly it wasn't. I went to sleep alone one night, as I usually did, and when I woke up he was curled around me, as he usually ended up. But somehow, I didn't feel the urge to push him away. 

It was only months later that, belly growing larger by the day and craving odd foods such as cat and caribou, he explained it had been a result of my subconscious and body accepting him as my mate. 

It was hard to stay away after the kids (pups?) were born, despite him saying I was allowed to now. We reached an agreement in that I'd go back to the den every winter and spend the rest of the year in town. 

Winter soon became my favorite time of year.


	30. Burn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He really felt that he should stay on the imaginary path he'd been following, straight forward the whole way, but that glimmer of water in his peripherals had been too tempting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mentions of sunburns, wandering in deserts, and brief mention of fire and explosions.

The sun burns against my skin; it's too pale for light this intense. It started as a soft tingling, and as I continued to walk, beginning at some point to stagger and falter in my once sure steps, it slowly, steadily grew into something more persistent. The farther above the horizon line the sun rose, the hotter my skin started to feel. 

It was only pink right now, but it would be shades darker by the time noon hit. The sand reflected the sun to some degree and burned me further. It was hell, and I didn't know anymore why I'd agreed to come out into this desert. 

I kept walking, ever forward, ever searching for what I no longer knew. I was lost, now, and for all I knew, I'd been walking circles since the sun started to rise. Everything looks too similar, no difference in even something as small as a cactus or stream: neither was present. 

Heat rose in shimmering waves, blurring the horizon, and even the sandy expanse meters in front of me. I was past comfortably warm now, passing quickly into the territory of sweltering, blistering hot. I was no longer sweating, simply because I couldn't any longer. I didn't think I'd been out here that long, but then again, I didn't remember my hair being quite so long when I first walked into the desert. 

I was disoriented, and honestly, I was lucky to even catch a glimpse of the harsh sunlight glittering off the tranquil surface of water. I changed direction, though my mind screamed at me to keep on the path I'd been on, walking towards the glimpse of something other than more sand and sunburns. 

My feet dragged, and I was suddenly aware that I was barefoot. I could feel every individual grain of sand pulling at my feet. I couldn't stop, I knew that; I'd die if I stopped. But it felt wrong to be changing direction. 

As I reached the edge of the oasis, I took a moment to stare. It was beautiful, a relief after so long in this terrible heat. I walked down the slight slope of the dune towards the water, almost falling. Just when I was at the place where the cool water met the dark sand, I realized that the painfully blue sky wasn't reflected in the water. It was all static and distorted stars. 

"Objective failure. End simulation."

Everything started to break. It was gone in seconds, and I realized that I couldn't feel the heat anymore, nor the sand beneath my feet. I blinked my eyes open and looked around. I was hooked up to thick cables and thin wires, standing in the center of a glass container. I looked down and saw the treadmill I'd been on had stilled. 

"Too many human urges. Recalibrate and load a new sim."

I closed my eyes and the treadmill started again. The world faded away. 

I screamed as an explosion rocked the water. A submarine must have exploded, that or another depth or proximity charge. The small wooden boat I was on had been caught in the middle of a terrible conflict, and now it was burning faster than the water could…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's so close to the end!!


	31. Renew

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felix had only the slightest idea of what his magic once felt like, and it was not hot coffee being poured all over his shirt.

My magic had been gone for centuries, stolen or lost or shoved too far down to reach. I could no longer remember what had happened to it, only that it was gone, and there was no way for me to get it back. 

I had only the slightest memory of what it was like, what my magic had felt like. What it had smelled and tasted like. It was, in the last vestiges of a memory I clung to, petrichor. The smell of the earth after rain. Refreshment and renewal, mellow and calm. My magic, from what I had remembered, had been far too easy to use and far too hard to reign in. 

I often got lost in thought over the subject, wondering and wanting and imagining. Now was such a time, and I suddenly came to when a man bumped into me. We were outside an old coffee shop, very popular and peculiar. There had been debate over the nature of the owners for as long as I could remember the place being open, but the two men never spilled. 

This man, unfortunately, spilled his coffee all over my shirt. It was hot, very dark and very strong, the strong scent drifting immediately into my face in a cloud of steam, and I hissed in pain as I pulled my white button-up away from my skin. 

"You better watch where you're going," the man said. Shocked, I looked up at him, and then slightly down because he was an inch shorter than me. 

"I'll admit I wasn't paying much attention but I'm not the one that spilled pure black coffee all over someone's shirt," I bit back. "So, I apologize for running into you, but please at least apologize as well. That stuff is hot."

The man, contrary to my plea, said nothing, simply looking me over. He took in the stain on my shirt and the way it clung in places, my black slacks and shoes, my rushedly combed hair. His lips quirked into a smile when he stared at my faces, presumably the freckles littered over my nose and cheeks. I blushed and looked away, fidgeting and letting go of the shirt. I cringed when it clung uncomfortably. 

"Well, since you admitted your fault I suppose it's only right I admit mine. I was in a hurry, and I apologize. Seo Changbin, pleased," he said languidly, drawing his eyes over me once again, "to meet you."

"Felix Lee," I said, uncomfortable in the face of the noiret's attention. His eyes were dark, with maybe the slightest hint of blue or violet. His hair hung slightly in his eyes, and his outfit was largely black. No, actually, it was completely black. 

"Hmm, well, Felix, I also suppose I should replace your shirt. If you'll follow me, we can get it situated," he said, turning away and throwing the empty coffee cup in a trash bin on the side of the road. 

"Changbin, wait, you don't need to- you said you were in a hurry, what happened to that," I asked, jogging after him. He glanced back at me and shrugged. 

"Something more important came up."

Short, simple, to the point. Embarrassing as well, to the point that I blushed again. 

"Okay, well, where are we going then," I asked, a bit of a huff. Changbin started crossing the road. 

"Say, where are you from? It doesn't sound like you're from around here," the noiret said, completely ignoring my question and traffic laws. He hadn't even waited for the sign to flash green. 

"Uhm, Australia. I uh, thought it had gotten better but I guess it's still easy to tell even after I've been here so long," I muttered. Australia hadn't been fun when I'd lived there. It had been very dangerous, and moving was one of the best decisions I ever made. I didn't remember exactly but I was sure that my magic hadn't been very well suited to the environment. 

At the thought, Changbin glanced back at me, a glint in his eye. I'd gotten off track again, because somehow, without realizing it, I'd walked into his… apartment?

"Uh-"

"I often wonder what witches are like without their magic. I guess I know now. You don't seem very witchy, you now," Changbin said. I huffed and crossed my arms. 

"Well, excuse me for not living up to your expectations, it's not like they've been gone for centuries. I barely even remember what my magic was, so I think it's fair that I don't seem very witchy to the man that spilled coffee on my shirt," I said, bitter and irritated. He frowned. 

"Well, change your shirt and then we can talk more, hmm?"

"Yeah, into what- where did this come from," I asked, surprised at the shirt that was clenched in my fist. It was a black graphic tee, with some kind of stylized cat and koi fish on it. They were battling? I noticed some Japanese on the shirt as well. I started changing into it when Changbin again refused to answer, instead motioning to me to put it on. I turned around to change, just so I wouldn't know that he was watching me. 

"You're a centuries-old witch who's lost touch with their magic. I'm a fallen angel, and I've got a few tricks. The shirt wasn't one of them, you just get distracted easily. I can, however, help you with your magic," he said, sitting on his couch. I followed suit and sat down. 

"I mean, obviously you've still got it, otherwise you'd have died long ago. So it's still in there somewhere, just hidden," the angel said. I tried to see any sign of his wings, wondering how much they'd cut off. Were they completely gone, or was something still left of them? 

"I… didn't consider that, actually. How would we…"

"I'll handle it. It'll only require a little bit of effort from you. I'll do most of the work. Just trust me, okay, Felix?"

Strangely enough, I agreed. For a guy that'd spilled coffee on me and then put all the blame on me, he wasn't that bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was so much fun to write!! I had a lot of fun doing all of these, it doesn't even feel like a whole month has passed. 
> 
> [CuriousCat](https://curiouscat.me/catfacekathryn)
> 
> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/catfacekathryn?s=09)


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